


We Became Each Other

by Nikki66



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age Trespasser, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Crying, Dragon Age Kink Meme, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Feels, Fenders, Fluff, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Muteness, Oral Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape, Rimming, Separation Anxiety, Sex Magic, Slavery, Slow Build, Soul Bond, Torture, Violence, kmeme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-05-29 17:43:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 27
Words: 76,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6386029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikki66/pseuds/Nikki66
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Hawke hands both Fenris and Anders over to Danarius, terror rules their lives.</p><p>A rare bond forms as they realize they are all that one another has. </p><p>Will rescue come before it's too late? </p><p>Will they be able to heal the wounds that are soul-deep?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Surrender

**Author's Note:**

> This is not simply a torture-wank fic. It's a story of healing and growth. The first chapters ARE painful, but for a reason. 
> 
> WRITTEN FOR A LIVEJOURNAL KINKMEME PROMPT:  
> "Fenris and Anders don’t like each other.  
> Hawke hands Fenris to Danarius. Then says to take Anders, too.  
> Danarius is a sick bastard.  
> Anders and Fenris learn to work together to survive Danarius’ treatment--torture, rape, isolation,etc.  
> Eventual consensual Fenders.  
> +Fenris accepts being Danarius’ slave again  
> ++Anders puts up a good fight against being broken.  
> ++++They meet Dorian Pavus in Tevinter  
> +++++Rescue comes a long time down the road, after permanent damage has been done to one or both  
> ++++++Fenders = love, not just sex"

Fenris could barely remember what life had been like during the decade spent in Kirkwall, during his years of freedom. Returning to his master was like being sent straight to Hell. Nothing else existed, in the past or in the future. Just the present. Just the terror, the pain and the master. All three were one and the same.

He remembered that life as though it was someone else’s story that he’d been told. Had he once been free? Once lived in a house, gone to a tavern, purchased ale, played cards, had friends? He barely remembered Anders, or their rivalry, from that time. He knew he’d hated him, knew he’d despised the choices he’d made. How petty. How distant and unreal.

Anders was his life, now. He was all that mattered. He was a part of him, as much as his limbs or organs, and had been for some time.

When Hawke gave Fenris over to Master, his heart and will had broken. He knew then that his time of freedom had been a dream, a joke, a tragic mistake. Just like his time with the Fog Warriors. When Hawke had laughingly told Master to take Anders with him, while he was at it... it became a nightmare. He knew he, himself, would suffer more with the abomination in his life. He wasn’t sure how, exactly, but he knew it was a bad omen.

He hated being right.

Falling back into slavery hadn’t been difficult for Fenris. In one action, Hawke had cut all of Fenris’ ties, destroyed his hopes, betrayed his trust, quashed his pride, twisted his reality. The long boat ride to Tevinter had given him time to find clarity. He was alone, Anders apparently contained elsewhere. Thrown into a cage in the hold, forgotten for the journey, Fenris made peace with his fate. 

Once again, all he had was Master. He hated his master. For years, he had run from him and struggled to maintain his freedom from him. Yet, Master had always been with him; in his memories, in the scars upon his body, in his nightmares. Somehow, he felt the finality and appropriateness in returning to him.

At his first audience with his master upon returning to Tevinter, he begged for forgiveness. He fell to his belly and proclaimed his fervent devotion to his master. Master had come for him, after all. He had never stopped looking for him. Hawke had given him away. Master, at least, wanted him. 

Fenris begged to be punished for his actions, for his foolish tantrum in leaving Master’s side. He could only hope that he could once again resume his proper place at Master’s feet, as his slave, as whatever master wished him to be.

His punishment was extreme, as deserved. He screamed for hours. For his temerity... for his pride... for his thoughtlessness... for his master’s pleasure. When it was over, he crawled to Master, kissing his feet, thanking him for setting him straight, again. He knew Master was right... he was a slave, nothing more. His freedom had been folly.

Anders did not fare so well. 

Anders didn’t know how to be a slave. He didn’t know how to be chained, how to embrace his position, how to live for his master. He had run from imprisonment his entire life. He didn’t understand that he could not fight this. As he had all of his life, he resisted, he argued, he disobeyed. He fought with his magic, with his demon, even with his fists.

At first, Master was amused by the defiance of the mage. He enjoyed watching Anders struggle, hearing his false threats and foolish convictions. Master asked Fenris details about the mage; his magical abilities, his strengths and weaknesses. He asked him what he, Fenris, had personally thought of the mage, what feelings he’d had for him. Fenris told him everything. Holding back, lying, was not possible. A slave that lied was brutally punished. Slaves were allowed nothing less than complete and utter transparency to their masters. A master owned all of a slave, even his thoughts. And, Master had ways to discern dishonesty. Fenris feared them, greatly. 

Master laughed when Fenris told him of Anders’ clinic in Darktown, of Fenris’ hatred for Anders. He was very interested in the demon Anders carried within him; Master called it a “spirit”, as Anders always had. But, Master was disappointed that it was a spirit of justice. It was not a demon that he could put to use. Finally, a suppression collar was placed on Anders. It quelled both the demon, and Anders’ magic. 

Even losing access to his magic and his demon didn’t subjugate Anders. He continued to fight against his slavery. Master allowed Anders to resist for a long time, months. He took great pleasure in the mage’s foolishness. Fenris knew that there were ways to cow a new slave, techniques to end the fight, assert them into their place in the world. Master did not use those, not for a long time. He seemed to look on Anders as a spirited horse, and admired his mettle. Anders’ behavior and ignorance amused him.

During the time that Master allowed Anders his delusion of resistance, Fenris had submitted completely, of his own will. He had not returned to the position he’d held prior to running from Master. He was not given his weapon or armor, again. Master did not trust him with them. Until he became completely assured of Fenris’ devotion, he would simply serve as his man-servant, his body servant, as decor. 

Master delighted in Fenris’ appearance, as he always had. Master took pride in his lyrium lines, in his physique, in his perfect obedience. He took him into the garden with him most mornings. He had him strip down to a loincloth, and perform his swordplay exercises, using a wooden practice sword. Master watched him with delight, telling Fenris how much he’d missed him, how perfectly beautiful he was. Often, he would bid Fenris to use his mouth to pleasure him, then, and choke the elf with deep, punishing thrusts into his throat. 

He had returned to Master's bed chambers at night, chained to the foot of his bed as Master slept. Before he’d run away, Fenris had slept in Master’s bed, or on a pallet on the floor. Close at hand, he’d be able to respond quickly should danger appear in the night. Or, should Master desire to use him. Now, Master used him--painfully, degradingly, as always--and then chained him out of reach, for Master’s own safety from him. Fenris was privileged to be in Master’s chambers, at all. It was one of the highest honors a slave could attain, to sleep in the room with his master. 

Fenris was not happy... but, he was satisfied. He did not seek happiness, he was a slave, after all. He’d been happy in Kirkwall, and look what it had gotten him. Here, he knew his place, knew Master could never betray him. He could only be betrayed by those he trusted. Fenris did not trust Master. His master owed him no allegiance. His master would let him live or die, eat or starve, have peace or pain, all at his whim. Fenris understood that. It was more honest, to him, than the false friendships he’d had in freedom. For who, among Hawke's companions, had fought for him? Only Master was willing to fight to keep him.

In time, Master had his fill of Anders’ attitude. He stopped laughing at the mage’s behaviors, lost admiration for his spirit, and began to teach him his place. Well, most often, he had others do the actual teaching, upon his orders. Master didn’t rush the process. Unwilling to give Anders a clean break from his fantasy of resistance, Master allowed Anders to believe there might be a way to pretend he had been broken. Sometimes, the mage went weeks without being harmed at all. 

And, then, the breaking would begin, anew. During the times when he was taught his place, Anders was whipped and beaten, starved and sleep-deprived. Anders was surprisingly strong. Fenris wondered if he’d received such punishments from templars. Or, if he was simply too stupid to understand the punishments. When Anders didn’t respond as Master hoped, Master considered what Fenris had told him of the mage. With his evil cunning, Master called for child slaves to be brought to Anders’ punishments. The children were beaten in his stead. Anders’ reaction was perfect. Master had found his greatest weakness. Anders could not bear the suffering of innocents.

There were times, when Master oversaw Anders’ breaking, that Fenris was present at Master’s heel. A few times, Anders had actually called-out to Fenris for help. Fenris half-expected Master to place the whip in Fenris’ hands. But, Master didn’t trust him enough, yet, to take part in the training. Instead, Fenris would be compelled to watch, or to serve Master’s body so that Anders would see that Fenris had no allegiance to Anders; that his sole purpose and desire was to serve Master. 

Fenris knew, that had Anders ever begged him during his days of folly in Kirkwall, Fenris would have laughed at him. But, he didn’t feel like laughing, now. He knew that, despite his own feelings regarding the abomination, Anders was a gentle person. He was a healer, a champion of the downtrodden. He had run from oppression his whole life, but he couldn’t run from this. Fenris felt the cruel irony in the situation. Anders had come to the only land where a mage could be free. The only place in Thedas where a mage could have what Anders had fought so long to give all mages; and had only found a greater oppression than he’d ever imagined. Fenris didn’t like Anders, but he didn’t want this for him. It may have been Fenris’ proper place, but it wasn’t Anders’. 

In time, inevitably, Anders was cowed. He learned the fear that every slave knows. He learned that resistance was useless, and would only result in the terrible pain of innocents. The fire left his eyes, his shoulders bowed, his gaze remained on the floor. He was finally broken. 

He was doomed. 

He had no real skills to apply in his slavery. Master had no need for a healer, he preferred to use healing potions. Master didn’t trust the spirit Anders harbored, in any case, and would not risk removing the pretty, jeweled suppression collar from Anders’ neck. Fenris wondered what fate awaited the abomination.

Master was pleased with Anders’ submission. He called for him to come from his cell in the slave kennels, frequently. He enjoyed watching the complete obedience that now defined the mage. Anders was awkward. He didn’t have the years of training and habit that a House slave possessed. He was not graceful in kneeling or serving. Master seemed to miss the challenge that Anders had been. He’d never so enjoyed the breaking of a slave’s spirit. 

So, one night he said he had a surprise for Anders.

He took him to his bed.

Fenris knew the ways of his Master’s pleasures. He understood what was expected of him, was prepared for the pain, degradation and humiliation. He knew not to resist, and he willingly performed as bade... however foul or painful. He remained quiescent as Master moved him, twisted him, fucked him, hurt him. He knew this part of pleasing his master. Anders didn’t.

Fenris was sent to kneel outside the bed chamber door when Master dragged Anders, choking on his leash, into the room. Fenris knelt quietly, unmoving, as he heard the cries, the muffled pleas, the slap of skin on skin, the gagging; and Master’s terrible laughter and moans of pleasure. Fenris knelt in the corridor, hearing the mage’s cries weaken, well into the early hours.

When it was done, Master called Fenris into the bedchamber. Anders lay crumpled on the tile floor, bruises blooming on his naked body. Fenris barely glanced at the battered man, and knelt before Master, his face to the tiles. Master, reclined on the bed, satisfaction in his countenance, and instructed Fenris to return Anders to his cell. He followed this with the order for Fenris to stay in that cell with him, from now on. Fenris replied as was expected, stood, and moved to Anders. Inside, he worried. Being used by Master was a nightmare, but a slave kicked from the master’s bed chamber was a slave on his way down in status. No good could come of it.

He lifted the barely conscious man and half-dragged, half-carried him, from the room. He took him down the hallways and stairs to the slave kennels, and into the cell Anders had occupied. It was a small cell, not meant for two. One blanket, one set of bowls for food and water. He lay Anders on the one blanket, and pulled the door shut. Slaves locked themselves in, in Danarius’ House. 

Fenris hadn’t been relegated to the kennels since he’d taken the lyrium lines. Except as a temporary punishment, he was too valuable, to preferred by Danarius, to live in slave quarters. He was anxious about his sudden change in status, but tried not to think about it. It wasn’t necessarily caused by anything he had done... it could simply be Master’s whim. Not that it mattered, there was nothing he could do about it. He was a slave. 

He sat beside the shivering mage. Anders was hurt, barely conscious. He was cold, too, but Fenris knew better than to remove his own shirt or pants to cover him. If Master wanted Anders clothed, he’d have given him clothes. The clothing Fenris wore belonged to Master. Giving it to another was stealing, and a slave could be killed, or at least lose a hand.

The kennels were small. In length and width, they were slightly more than the height of a human male. A hole in the corner led to the sewers, and served as a toilet. The bowls were served with gruel and water once each day. Occupants were taken on rotation every few days to the cold waters of the slave bath to wash. Clean garments were given at that time. Torches at the end of each corridor were the only light.

Fenris sat, idly wondering his fate, and that of the abomination. It was very late. He was tired.

In time, Anders spoke. This was the first time they’d been able to speak, since leaving Kirkwall... how long ago? Was it a year? Less? They’d never been alone, before now.

Anders’ voice, raw and painful, floated up to him.

“Fenris... please...if there’s any kindness in you... kill me.”


	2. Becoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danarius will never cease attempting to create a masterpiece.
> 
> Fenris tries to help Anders in his acclimation to slavery.

“Fenris... please...if there’s any kindness in you... kill me.”

He wasn’t surprised by the words. He’d asked them of the Maker and of his Master, many times over the years. He was surprised by his regret that he couldn’t honor Anders’ wish.

“I cannot. Our master has warded the lyrium. I cannot kill, with or without the lyrium’s power, except by his wish.”

Anders began to weep. He prayed. “Maker, please, just take me... oh, Maker... have mercy....”

Fenris felt one of Anders’ hands take one of his, and he didn’t know how to respond. This hand wasn’t dispensing pain, or degradation. It only sought comfort. From a man Anders had no reason to imagine would want to comfort him. 

Fenris sighed. He felt sympathy seep into his heart. It was not his hope that Anders should suffer, this way. He had nothing to offer; no promises, no platitudes, no reassurances. This was a life they both had to endure. He lay down, finally, and pulled Anders into his arms. This much--a connection, a gentle touch--he could give. Fenris held him, learned the smell of the man, the sound of his breath, the beat of his heart. 

Anders cried himself dry, clinging to Fenris for warmth and the imagined safety that the elf’s arms allowed. 

The next day, it became clear why Fenris had been sent from Master’s chambers. Master wanted to make a Matched Set of them. Fenris was baffled, but it certainly wasn’t his place to show it. Matched Sets were slave twins, that acted as a single unit. Usually comprised of actual identical twins, the primary quality was that they look alike. Often, two slaves, similar in appearance, could be made into a Matched Set. Matching face, physique, coloring, hairstyle, clothing, were the hallmark of a Matched Set. He and Anders had several inches difference in height, they were elf and human. Fenris was dark skinned with white hair, Anders fair skinned with golden-blonde. Not to mention Fenris’ lyrium markings. 

It was the first of a long line of bizarre behaviors that Danarius would exhibit in the coming years. 

As a Matched Set, they were no longer to be without the other beside them. They would share one single cell, or both be in attendance of Master. They would learn to mirror one another’s movements and speech. That was the other part of a Matched Set. They moved in synchrony, like a shadow of the other. Their walk, movements, expressions, all should match. It was even expected that they speak in unison. Usually, making a perfect Matched Set called for a trainer to come and work with the pair, extensively. Their entire life would become a choreography.

Master started with their appearance. He had Anders’ burnished-gold hair cut to match Fenris’. They were given matching leggings and tunic. Fenris was fitted with a decorative collar to match the suppression collar around Anders’ neck. 

Then, they were taken to a tattoo specialist. Fenris stripped naked and lay on a cot next to an equally naked Anders. Anders’ body was then inscribed with tattoos to match the shape and design of Fenris’ lyrium markings. His were reddish-gold, the color of his hair; just as Fenris’ markings were shining white, and matched the color of his. 

It was a painful procedure for Anders, long and painful. Fenris was just grateful that Danarius didn’t plan to attempt another lyrium experiment on Anders. As uncomfortable as the tattooing was, it was nothing like the memory-obliterating agony of the lyrium procedure. Master, of no mind to sit and watch the hours-long session, left them there and went to do whatever masters did without their slaves. The tattoo specialist didn’t particularly care what they did, or said, except that they not disturb him or his work. Fenris took the opportunity to better explain what it meant to be a Matched Set. Anders was as confused as Fenris by this turn of events, but to his credit, did not belabor the issue. It was simply what would be, from now on. 

Anders was still emotionally numb and physically tender from his abuse the night before. Fenris knew that, eventually, he'd become accustomed to Master's depredations. As for the tattoos being inscribed upon his body, Anders succumbed to what was simply another madness to endure. He understood this ‘redesign’ of his appearance was a testament to their place in the world. They were being matched, like carriage horses, or shoes, or furniture. During particularly painful areas; the hands, feet, genitals--Anders bit back whimpers. Fenris distracted him by talking. Fenris explained that once in a Set, there was no solitary place in life for either slave. If one died, the other would be killed. If one was punished, the other was punished, equally. Everything about their lives was reliant on the other member of the set. They were paired, and their fates utterly intertwined.

Master was thrilled with the result of the tattoos. Anders’ body was covered in markings, just as Fenris’ was. His were red, swollen, tender, as new tattoos are. Master ran his hands over them, heedless of the discomfort it caused. He spoke of his anticipation of their self-taught synchrony. It was clear, Master would not send for a trainer. They were on their own to become perfectly matched in action and speech.

That night, in their cell, Anders gazed at the ink covering his skin. He was still dazed by the transformation, made without his consent or desire. It was certainly no worse than being taken to Master’s bed, but it was constant. The tattoos could not be forgotten. They were there, ingrained in him, in his vision. He said nothing. There was nothing to say. 

Their gruel portion was enough for two, but served in one bowl. They shared it wordlessly, passing it between them, carefully drinking only their fair share. Fenris taught Anders about Danarius’ particular preferences in regard to following on a leash, or serving him. They practiced movements--kneeling, rising, reaching, bowing--performing them in sync. They rehearsed speech, replies and intonations. 

“Master will expect us to pleasure him, together.”

Anders’ eyes filled. “No... please, no.”

“Let me tell you of his preferences. And, the ways to make it as painless as possible. It won’t be ever be painless. He wants it to hurt. But, sometimes, it can hurt less.”

Anders drooped, but listened. 

“He will want us to perform for him, as well.”

“What kind of performance?”

“Depending on Master’s desires, of course. He may have us fight... he will expect blood. He will have one of us punish the other... he will expect pain. He will want to watch us couple... he will expect us to be aroused.”

“Fenris... I can’t get an erection on command.”

“It won’t matter. He will give us lust potions.”

“Lust potions are dangerous. Use is likely to result in injury to the victim.”

“Is there anything that leads you to believe that is not exactly what Master wants?”

Anders’ stared at him in disbelief. “I won’t rape you, Fenris.”

“You will if Master wishes it. And, if he wishes it, I expect you--I will rely upon you--to do it. You know this, Anders. We must obey.”

Master did wish it.

Fenris could see the relief on Anders’ face when Master did not command them to attend his own body. Master instead called Anders to him, petting him, and speaking sweetly. He wished to reward Anders for looking so beautiful in his new tattoos. 

He said he had a surprise for him.

He produced the vial of potion from his robes, tilted Anders’ head sharply back on his neck, and poured it down his throat. 

Anders choked and coughed, eyes wide in disbelief. Master pushed him toward Fenris and commanded them to attend each other’s bodies while they waited for the potion to take effect.

Anders hesitated, confused, looking at Fenris with despair. Fenris simply grabbed his head and pulled him into a deep, open kiss. He felt the whimper of fear that Anders tried to bury, and briefly closed a hand snugly about his throat in warning. Then, all the things that he’d instructed Anders to do to Danarius, Fenris did to Anders, as though the mage were a proxy for their master. 

Anders finally began to participate, touching the elf in return, kissing and licking him as he’d been told. It was a parody of desire unfelt by either. Fenris knew the potion was kicking in when Anders began to sweat, then tremble, then gain a hard, painful erection. He saw Anders trying to fight it. He wouldn’t have been able to, regardless, but with the acts they were performing on each other, he didn’t stand a chance.

When Anders suddenly growled in fury, and shoved Fenris to the floor, the elf allowed his body to be positioned however Anders manhandled him. On his knees, face pressed into the tiles, he bit back the cry of pain that Anders’ brutal invasion brought to his lips. Anders was at the mercy of the potion, all base instinct, violence, dominance and desperate, painful lust. The potion lasted about half an hour, most times. Climax didn’t stop its effect, and Anders continued using him repeatedly. He thrust, scratched, choked, bit. Fenris bled, he hurt, he was exhausted, but he didn’t cry out. Master preferred recipients to be silent during their use.

When the potion ran its course, and Anders collapsed in a gasping heap, Master smiled happily. They both struggled to their knees, and expressed a perfectly practiced gratitude for their reward. Master sent them to their cell. Both of them exhausted, they leaned on each other as they made their way out. 

Anders’ tears fell silently. Fenris held him, again, and relearned his scent, his heartbeat, his breath. 

“Shhhh... shhhh... you did well.”

“I did well?? I fucking raped you, Fenris....”

“I know. That’s what you were ordered to do. You took the potion, you followed the command, and you will live another night.”

“Fenris....”

“We will both live another night.” Anders understood. If one of them was displeasing, both could be killed. There cannot be only one of a Matched Set. 

Fenris cupped Anders’ face in his hands, made sure the mage heard him. “One night, I’ll be drinking the potion. Another, we both might. You are not doing this, you understand, Master is. Tonight, it was not you that used me. It was Master Danarius. You were simply his tool to do it. Do you understand?”

Anders nodded, pulling Fenris tightly against him. “I won’t survive this....”

“You will. I will. We will see each other through.”

“You don’t even like me, Fenris.”

“That life is dead. What we were to each other... that’s dead, too. We have no choice in this. This has been thrust upon us, but regardless, this is what we are. As a Matched Set, Danarius is our master, but we are responsible for each other, now.” 

“Maker... Fenris... I won’t let you down. I won’t.”

“I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even as I write it, I hurt for them.  
> Danarius is a sick fuck. I hate him.
> 
> To be continued....


	3. Not Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danarius is slipping into madness. 
> 
> Fenris and Anders struggle to avoid the same fate in isolation.

Most of the time, they pleased Master. They worked hard to be a single unit, to be the Matched Set that Master wanted them to be. They practiced their movements constantly. Learned each other’s expressions, harmonized their speaking voices. Because there was such a disparity in their appearance and size, they learned to compliment, rather than match, some of the movements.

They practiced their expressions that would most please Master. He preferred fear. The two men went through repertoires, and chose those most likely to delight. The shaggy haircut was ideal for ducking the head and casting a bashful, fear-tinged gaze through the hanging fringe of hair. That was probably why Master chose the style. They created a system of simple signals using slight changes in eyebrow lifts, nostril flares, twitches of fingers. This allowed them to coordinate somewhat during unexpected events. 

They practiced performing sex acts on one another. They had no desire for sex, given the abuse they endured on a regular basis. Neither was stimulated by the activity, but that wasn’t the point. They rehearsed movements and positions that would be most pleasing to watch from Master’s, or a guest’s, point of view. They coordinated their movements for when both were called upon to please Master, or a guest, in bed. 

For, he did loan them to visiting friends. Master was greatly pleased by their dual pleasures in his bed chambers, and enjoyed bragging about it. Not all of his visitors seemed pleased to hear him describe the depravities he exercised with his slaves. Not out of concern for his slaves, of course. He was simply crossing the lines of social propriety with this type of frank sexual discussion. He had less visitors as time passed. 

Master also developed reluctance to leave the estate. Before Fenris ran away, Master had always delighted in attending parties, political discussions and balls. Fenris had attended many of those, with him, as his body guard. Now, Master was becoming reclusive. He cautioned all of his slaves against discussing him, or the House, with outsiders. The slaves never would have, it was against decorum. Few were now allowed to leave the House.

He threatened Anders and Fenris frequently against telling anyone that Anders had once been a Grey Warden. Master believed that the Wardens would come looking for him, if word got out. He made comments to the effect that Anders was his personal line of defense should a Blight begin. Other Magisters might try to steal them; Anders for his Taint, Fenris for his lyrium. He no longer took them from the House, in any case, and Fenris was at a loss as to whom they would tell such information. 

Fenris wondered if the Wardens would look for Anders, should they learn where he was. Anders doubted it. Although in self-defense, he had killed several Templars and Wardens when he left. They had not tried to take him in when they met him, later, in the Deep Roads. The only people who might have bothered to look for him were the same ones who had stood idle as he and Fenris were handed over to Danarius. Why would they bother, now?

Fenris and Anders discussed all these matters in the privacy of their cell. Mouths so close to their ears as to touch, they barely breathed their words. Discussing a master was risky, and best done with extreme care. They came to the same conclusion. Master was losing his mind.

He was becoming forgetful. He was paranoid. He insulted his rare guests. He forgot names. The entire household was on the watch to prevent catastrophe. With so many slaves keeping track, it was relatively easy to guide Master through his day. It wasn’t without risk. Too much guidance, and he angered, and slaves suffered.

He seldom outright punished Anders and Fenris. He enjoyed them, immensely. That didn’t mean that he didn’t cause them pain. Most of his joy came from giving pain, in some fashion. He also had the twisted belief that others enjoyed giving pain, as well. He gave one or the other of them lust potion almost as often as he chose to have them serve him. Some part of Master’s twisted, demented mind believed that it was a reward to administer the potion. Anders’ worst moments were when he’d been given the potion, and knew that he would soon be brutalizing Fenris. It was certainly more physically painful when Fenris took the potion, but the former healer felt emotional pain more acutely than physical. Right now, hurting Fenris was the most painful thing he could do to himself.

Fenris had been Master’s slave for many years even before he ran away, and knew his moods and preferences well. He was able to stave off most potential pitfalls with this knowledge. However, with his declining mentation, Master was less predictable. One day, for all their attention and clandestine communication, Fenris missed a cue in their Master’s expression, and made a misstep. Master smiled. 

Both men dropped to the floor in graceful coordination, on their knees, arms outstretched, faces to the tiles. 

Master sent for the whip, which was given to Fenris. Fenris was instructed to punish Anders for Fenris’ own error. 

Anders resumed his position of supplication, quaking on the inside. He knew Fenris would have to whip him well, or they would both suffer retribution. Only ten lashes, Master was generous. By the end, Anders was clamping his lips between his teeth to keep the cries at bay. 

Master was pleased with both of them; Fenris for whipping him so competently, and Anders for taking the lash so beautifully. As a small boon, Anders was given the honor of pleasuring Master with his mouth. Despite Anders’ developed skill, Master was unable to reach completion. He fired an excruciating spell at Anders, and ordered Fenris to take over. Even Fenris was unable to bring him to climax. In ire, Master forcibly poured lust potions down both their throats, and sent them to their cell to suffer their resulting mutual attacks.

Anders was anxious. They’d never both received it. As soon as they shut themselves in, Fenris instructed Anders to take off his clothes. 

“Before it kicks in, we can prepare ourselves. It will be a little less painful.”

They used saliva and their fingers, and opened and lubricated themselves. They each began to sweat, and tremors shook their extremities.

Anders struggled to catch his breath and speak. “How will this happen? We can’t both take the other... we’re going to kill each other fighting about it.”

Fenris was beginning to groan. “We’ll start before the potion takes over. We might not fight if we’ve already begun. You take me, first... you’re still sore from last time. If we end up getting switched, at least you’re prepped.”

Anders pushed the elf to the floor, and crawled between Fenris’ legs. He felt his body reacting to the potion. Their hips began to thrust together, to slide their induced erections against each other in desperate need. 

“Anders... do it... don’t wait for the impulse... we could fight....”

Anders didn’t hesitate. He positioned himself and slid into Fenris’ accepting body.

Both groaned. Unlike the usual painful, injurious entry he would have expected, Fenris felt it like a balm. Never in his life had he felt sexual pleasure except at the height of the potion’s effect, when it was a brutal madness. Right now, aroused, but in control of his mind, he was shocked by the pleasure he felt. 

Anders must have understood his bewildered gasps, for he whispered into his pointed ear, “Do you feel it?”

“I do... yes, I do....”

Anders cradled Fenris’ head in his hands, and rocked into him. The pleasure brought by the potion was unbelievable. Fenris couldn’t stop the moans being pulled from his throat. Anders began to thrust with intent, riding the potion as it took greater hold. 

Fenris felt the need, the desperate need, and began to pull Anders against him, hands on his ass, legs wrapped about his waist. Oh... the fire inside....

Anders picked up Fenris’ hips, and hammered into him. Fenris shot into his climax, roaring as he spent himself between their bodies. Anders followed, burying himself in Fenris, his voice raised in victory. 

The potion had them fully in its grip, now.

Rolling, struggling, they vied for dominance and to take the other. Despite Anders already having the advantage of position, Fenris had the strength and training of a warrior. He quickly wrestled Anders onto his belly, and penetrated him in a hard thrust. Anders didn’t cry out in pain... he wailed in pleasure. Fenris held him pinned beneath him and rode him mercilessly. 

They spent the next half-hour, more or less, wrestling, biting, scratching, rolling, thrusting. It was frantic and ruthless, but the cries were all of struggle and pleasure, not pain and injury. By the time the potion ran its course, and they’d exhausted themselves, they were gasping in disbelief. Both trembled and panted, Anders still buried inside the elf. It was the potion that caused it, but they had felt pleasure. They were sore, to be sure, but neither was bleeding or badly injured. They were covered only in sweat, bite marks, and scratches. 

They fell into exhausted sleep.

The next day, Master was displeased. Although bearing bites and scratches, they lacked the injuries that should have occurred when two were given the potion. He had not sent them to their cell to enjoy themselves. He was incensed that his intensions had been overthrown. 

They punished each other. Anders beat Fenris. Barehanded, barefoot, he punched and kicked him until the elf was bruised and bloody. Then, Fenris beat Anders. As Master bade. In their cell, they whispered quiet words of comfort to one another. It wasn’t their fault. 

In the ensuing months, when he demanded that they pleasure him, Master was still unable to reach completion. He was furious. He blamed them for deliberately failing to bring him pleasure. He blamed the Magisterium for sending assassins to poison his food. He blamed neighbors for using magic against him. 

Physical torment only had so much allure. Master also delved into their minds. He asked for more details about their time together in Kirkwall. He asked Fenris what he’d hated most about Anders, then. It was hard to remember the thoughts he’d had so many years ago. How long, now? Two? Maybe, three years? Finally, he said, “His demon, Master.”

He asked Anders the same about Fenris. Anders also had to struggle to recall. When had Fenris ever been other than he was, now? Finally he answered, “The hateful things he said, Master.”

Master kindly granted both of his slaves punishments to fit the crimes they’d leveled against the other. As a Matched Set, both received each punishment. Fenris, who had spoken words that hurt Anders, would be made blind, deaf and dumb, in atonement. As his Match, Anders would also suffer the spell. Master chose not to warn them before he cast it upon them. One moment they knelt before Master, the next, neither could see, hear, or speak.

Fenris was terrified. He felt hands pulling him upright, propelling him across the floor. He was moved around corners, stumbling down stairs, and then pushed against a wall. His clothing was stripped from him, and then he was alone in silent darkness. He reached out with his hands, desperately searching for Anders. His feet stubbed against a soft object and he fell. It was Anders. Anders’ hands reached out, and they pulled together tightly. They weren’t alone. 

When they finally got up, holding firmly to each other, they realized they were in their cell. The days were endless, spent in the isolation of their minds. They never lost contact, always holding onto the other. Even a brief moment without Anders’ touch, and Fenris felt that he’d been cast adrift. In the routine of the kennels, they were led in turn to bathe. Leaving the cell was frightening, and they clung together for fear of being separated. Gruel was delivered daily into their bowl, as always. They couldn’t hear the door open, see the light from the torch. They didn’t know when it was delivered, unless the slave bringing it happened to brush against them. Time was meaningless with no awareness of light or dark, no true schedule to mark their days.

Fenris suffered. Hearing no other voice, not even his own, he was utterly alone in his mind. He knew Anders was, as well. Without the other’s touch, it was terrifying, the utter sense of aloneness. The night that they rolled away from each other in their sleep, he awoke in a panic, not knowing if Anders had been taken away. He scrabbled about the floor, and finally found his sleeping body. He crawled on top of him, shaking, holding him tight.

The spell had left them with only touch, smell and taste to stay in contact with reality. As time passed, they used those senses to fill the void the loss of the others had left. They were all each other had on which to exercise those senses. They literally sat on one another, straddling laps, cradling, lying with limbs entwined. Fingers ran through hair; hands stroked and pet the skin of limbs and torso. They mapped each other’s faces, gentle touches stroking along brows, noses, lips, chins, ears. They lay their cheeks against chest and belly to feel the heartbeat, the movements of their innards. They buried their noses in one another’s necks and chest and underarms, breathing the scent of the other. They began to taste each other’s skin, sucking gently at the salt of their necks and shoulders. Anders ran his tongue along Fenris’ markings, tasting the lyrium, his lost magic tickling his memory at the taste. Fenris sucked the flavor of the bland gruel as readily from Anders’ fingers as from his own. 

They were generous with themselves, giving each other the comfort they found in touch, taste, and smell with no hesitation. They eventually lost any sense of separation as two people. Anders’ body became as an extension of his; just as familiar, just as necessary. Holding each other, feeling their warmth and breath; mouths on each others' skin, suckling, tasting; Fenris knew that they were alive. That they still existed.

One day, as Anders lay against Fenris’ shoulder, his finger began to trace a pattern against the elf’s chest. Over and over, he traced it. Finally, Fenris recognized it... the mage was using his finger to trace letters on his skin. He was spelling the elf’s name. Fenris put his finger on Anders chest, and traced A-N-D-E-R-S. Their world exploded. They had words between them, now. They couldn’t write fast enough to tell all they felt, all they needed.

SCARED. DARK. I AM HERE. HOW LONG. YES. NO. SORRY. DON’T CRY. 

It was less terrifying, then. They could share their fears, ask questions, comfort the isolation in their minds. It was a slow and arduous method of communication, but all they had was time. It was harder for Fenris; his reading was less adept, he could barely write. He would become frustrated, angry with himself. Anders gentled him with soft touches, pulling the elf to mouth along the mage’s neck or chest, to let Fenris taste him, breathe him in, and know they were together. Long days, long nights, spent writing letters to each other on their skin. 

Master seemed to have forgotten them there. Fenris reckoned they had been in isolation for several months, judging by the number of baths they had been given. They both feared this was permanent. Anders was worried what Master planned to do to punish them for the spirit within him. Justice had been utterly absent from his thoughts ever since the collar was placed. He didn’t know if the spirit had fled, or died, or was asleep. He had no idea what Master intended. It didn’t matter, knowing wouldn’t help, wouldn’t prevent it.

One day, after months of deprivation, suddenly light, sound, and speech returned in a blinding cacophony. Pressing their hands to their ears, squeezing their eyes shut, they tried to escape it. The return of their senses was as frightening as the loss of them. They were overwhelmed. Finally, they eased into their returned senses. Fenris slowly opened his eyes to see for the first time in an eternity. Honey-brown eyes looked up at him from under red-gold fringes of hair. Fenris thought he was seeing the sun--all fair, golden and warm. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. He’d never seen any sight so beautiful as Anders’ face.

When Anders nuzzled against Fenris’ cheek, and whispered his name in his ear, Fenris thought the sound more beautiful than any songbird. They whispered with voices lost to disuse, gentle on their ears. They gazed at one another, not able to get enough of the vision of their other self.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lovely work of art for this chapter, in chapter 27 (that's all Ch. 27 is, don't worry about spoilers) ;-)
> 
> With Danarius, they cannot win for losing.  
> Dementia is terrible enough, on its own. Dementia in a psychopathic magister... well, you read it.
> 
> When you have only one thing in the world, that one thing becomes your world.
> 
> Some may disagree with my Anders-Grey Warden thoughts. That's fine.


	4. I Missed You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris faces his greatest fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hang in there. This one's tough, but rather short.
> 
> And, what's that old adage about darkness and dawn?

Master was pleased. Although easily startled by sounds and changes of light, the Matched Set he had created was even more tightly bound, more gracefully in tune than before. He spoke as though they’d only been under the spell for a few weeks, but Fenris knew it was three or four times that. 

Seeing him for the first time after their isolation, his decline was obvious. Master smelled badly. His robes had stains, and looked as though they’d been worn for several days. When he stood up and ambled across the floor, to urinate in a potted plant, Fenris quailed. Master was much, much worse. 

Still, the slaves of his House conspired to keep things as normal a possible. He still managed his day-to-day affairs with at least with some level of competence. He rarely asked Anders and Fenris to attend to his body. He would ramble on about one subject or another, and then repeat what he’d just said. Fenris wasn’t sure what was more alarming, that he talked to his slaves, or that he was so confused when he did so.

When in Master’s presence, he and Anders maintained their perfect attention, their choreographed grace. They replied when told to, or asked a question. They responded without hesitation to any command, no matter how unusual. They hoped for no pain, for one more day.

At night, or when left idle in their cell, they whispered of what was to come. The entire Household was held captive by a madman. As Master’s body slaves, they had closer contact with him than any others. He remembered their names, and when upset or angry, called for them; whether or not they were the appropriate choice to address the issue at hand. There was nothing they could do about it, no one to whom to turn--except each other. Arms about each other, mouths worrying necks and throats, they huddled in their cell against the madness of their world. 

One day, Master was in good spirits. He seemed clearer than he had for a while. 

And, he had a surprise for his pets. 

He held up a potion. It was not a lust potion, which was dark red, like blood wine. This was black, viscous, evil-looking. It was for Anders. It would destroy the demon within him that Fenris had so hated. They had hoped that Master had forgotten about the demon in his declined memory, but, as usual, they were not so lucky. Apparently, he’d ordered the potion to be made, back when he’d first thought of it, and it was delivered yesterday. He was delighted to be reminded of it.

There was no potion for Fenris, for he was not a mage, and such a potion would kill him. But, the potion would make Anders very ill. Master felt that would be appropriate punishment for Anders having taken the spirit within him. As his part of the punishment, Fenris would be required to attend to Anders in his illness until it wore off. 

Fenris looked on with trepidation as Anders, kneeling opposite him, raised the vial to his lips with shaking fingers. He choked down the liquid, fighting his stomach’s attempt to reject it. The mage wrapped his arms about his belly, convulsing, grunts rising in his throat. He bit back cries and whimpers. Suddenly, he grasped his skull with both hands, threw back his head and screamed. He screamed as Fenris had never heard anyone do. Anders’ back arched until he was bent backward, legs twitching and kicking, torso twisting into unlikely postures. The scream stopped briefly as Anders drew a rasping breath, and then resumed. Fenris watched, not having permission to move, trying to school his features. He thought he would die from the pounding of his heart, from the breath he held in fear. 

In a few moments, Danarius tired of the ceaseless noise, and left the room. Fenris was to stay with Anders until it stopped, clean up after him, and return them to their cell.

As soon as Danarius left the room, Fenris pulled Anders to him. Anders didn’t seem to know what was happening around him, or feel Fenris against him. His screams continued, ringing in the chamber, echoing off the walls and vaulted ceilings. His voice eventually broke, the screams then coming breathy and harsh. He began to weep, sobbing with broken cries. 

Then, his body rejected the potion. With great lurching spasms, Anders expelled the black fluid in projectile streams. Fenris held his head so that he wouldn’t inhale the stuff, kept him from falling into the puddle. 

Finally, Anders simply wept. Quietly, painfully, he curled in on himself, and wept silent tears. Fenris pulled him away from the pool of sick, and stepped into the hallway to call for a cleaning slave. Together, they cleaned the floor. Fenris washed Anders’ face. He picked him up, cradled in his arms, and carried him down the long flights of stairs and hallways back to their cell. 

It was a long time before Anders would respond to him. His eyes were open, but no emotion, no recognition played across them. He slumped onto the floor when not supported. Fenris held him, cupped his face to look at his own. He whispered soothingly to him, then frantically. He slapped his face firmly, pinched him. When Fenris tried to give him water, Anders simply let it run out of his mouth. 

Fenris felt raw inside. Anders was all that he had. Anders was part of him. Anders was his world. He felt him slipping from him.

For days, he cradled the mage against him. He tried to feed him, tried to drip water into his throat. When Anders soiled himself, Fenris cleaned him as best as could, reassuring him with soft words. 

When they were summoned to Master’s presence, Fenris felt stark fear flow through him. The best he hoped for was that they would both be killed, quickly and painlessly. The worst was that they would be separated. That shouldn’t happen to Matched Sets, but Master was lost in madness.

He cradled Anders, dropping his head to the mage’s chest, and said a desperate prayer. He stood with him in his arms and retraced his path to Master’s rooms. He dropped to his knees, bowing low over Anders’ limp form.

Master grinned down at them. He swept Anders’ frame with an evil, demented gaze. He asked Fenris about the mage’s condition. Fenris told him with a voice not quite able to remain steady.

Master sighed dramatically. The only use for a slave in such condition was to fertilize the fields. Anders would be killed, and Fenris might be worth retraining.

For the first time in his remembered life, Fenris wept. He prostrated himself before Master, sobbing frankly. He begged for Anders’ life, begged them not to be separated. 

Master was delighted. He’d never seen Fenris so broken. He let the elf weep on the tiles, body covering the mage’s protectively. Then he spoke.

He would allow Fenris to keep Anders. As a pet, of sorts. Fenris would be responsible for his care, feeding, behavior. Anders would be kept on a leash, which Fenris would hold. Master felt this promised to be very entertaining. 

Fenris wept again, in gratitude. He left Anders long enough to crawl forward on his belly and kiss Master’s filthy feet humbly. 

Master then declared that both Anders and Fenris smelled offensive, and sent them to bathe, and to obtain a leash and collar from the supply room.

Fenris picked up his mage, and cradled him to the baths. He washed them both. Anders stirred a bit when he was submerged into the cold water, and Fenris felt a small, reluctant bit of hope.

He fitted a rough collar to the mage’s neck, and attached the leash to it. It was a status statement, at this point. Anders wasn’t walking. But, for Fenris to hold the leash of Anders, meant the mage was now the lowest of life-forms. Slave to a slave. 

Back to their cell, which had, fortunately, been hosed out in their absence. He trickled water into Anders’ throat, again, and after coughing and choking, Anders swallowed a small amount. 

Fenris doted on Anders. Every moment was spent on his care. He learned to sit him over the lavatory hole in the floor, and the sensation of the hole against his body seemed to trigger his elimination. If water was put into his mouth, and his head tilted back to avoid it running out, Anders would swallow compulsively, and so drink the fluids. 

He still had no expression in his eyes, no recognition. Fenris spoke to him in a constant, low murmur. He spoke his own name, and Anders’, frequently. He held the mage so that his face buried into his neck, that Anders could smell him, taste him if he tried. Eventually, Anders began to sit up on his own. He bore weight on his legs during transfers from blanket to toilet, or out of Fenris’ arms into the bath.

When, after not eating for nearly a week, Anders finally moved the bit of gruel placed in his mouth; finally used his tongue to test the texture and taste, and then swallow it... Fenris rejoiced. 

The food rations delivered to the cell were now only enough for one. There were also only clothing changes for one. Fenris knew, it was due to Anders’ new status. He’d been given to Fenris. Fenris was responsible for feeding him, as Master had said. Master would no longer provide food for Anders. 

Fenris did not need to think about it. He simply shared his food with him, equally. He could not give him his clothing. The clothing belonged to Master. Anders was naked, but for the two collars on his neck. 

One night, Fenris woke to the sensation of a light caress on his cheek. He opened his eyes, slowly, thinking it was a rat, and hoping to catch it. A rat would extend their food a day, though how he could kill it, he didn’t know. He still had wards on his lyrium. Instead, he opened his eyes to the honey-brown eyes of Anders. They looked back into his, and saw him. Anders was stroking his face with light fingertips.

Fenris sobbed, once. He pulled Anders to him, and buried his face in his golden hair, breathing deeply, relief expanding his chest. 

Anders’ voice, rough with disuse, spoke. “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head, and spoke into the soft hair. “Oh... I missed you.”

Anders’ arms wrapped about him, in return. “I’m sorry.”


	5. Darkness and Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders and Fenris prepare for the worst.
> 
> Can they rely upon the kindness of strangers?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hang in there. 
> 
> There is brief moment of animal... sadness. Brief. NOT explicit.
> 
> FAQ: Timeline from Bioware.com
> 
> DA2, Act III 9:37  
> DAI 9:41-9:42  
> DA Tress. 9:44
> 
> (In my story, Anders and Fenris were taken from Kirkwall near end of Act II)

Anders was not bothered by his change in status. He was still with Fenris. That was all that mattered to him. The food situation bothered him. He didn’t want Fenris to go hungry. Fenris refused to let Anders go hungry. So, they both half-starved. The occasional rat or cockroach added to their diet. Neither complained, neither shirked from stuffing the raw vermin into their mouths. 

When Fenris was summoned to Danarius, he held Anders’ leash, the mage walking several steps behind. They continued their synchronized movements, but Anders did not speak to Danarius. It was beneath any Master to speak to, or be spoken to by, the slave of a slave. If Master wanted Anders to do something, he commanded Fenris, who passed it on to Anders. 

This was just as well. Anders now had difficulty interacting with people other than Fenris. Even other slaves passing by caused him to tuck his head tightly, and quake with anxiety. He wasn’t able to adequately describe what the potion had done to him. He didn’t like to talk about it, although he tried to share it with Fenris. By the time he’d been given the potion, Anders hadn’t felt or heard Justice for years. He couldn’t say what, if anything, had actually happened to the spirit. He only knew what he felt happening to himself. He described the experience only as “having his soul shredded.”

Whatever it had done, his psyche was now unbearably tender. Loud noises, quick movements, unexpected touch... He startled, breath coming in pants. Fenris was his safe place. The elf could touch him, talk to him, hold him; their connection had not changed; except that Fenris was even more fiercely devoted to the protection of his mage. He learned to soothe Anders as soon as anxiety began to show in the twitching of his face. When Fenris spoke to him, he could see that Anders’ mind was intact, his intelligence was unaffected. Anders was simply wounded, terribly wounded, and was slow to heal.

One day, Master took Fenris into the garden courtyard. He done this, occasionally, in the past. He instructed Fenris to tie Anders’ leash to a nearby hitch, designed for just that purpose. He commanded Fenris to perform pleasuring acts on Master. It wasn’t for the physical pleasure; Master’s body no longer reacted to such stimulation. Fenris knew it was to impress upon himself that he was still Master’s to command, in any way he chose. It was vile. Master was no longer bathing.

To his relief, Master stopped him, and pointed at Anders. A stray, limping cat had approached the mage as he knelt quietly, and crawled into his lap. Anders’ eyes were alight. He didn’t dare smile, or touch the cat, but his delight was obvious.

Master seemed to think it amusing. He told Fenris that his slave should be allowed to play with the creature if he wanted. What was the harm in two injured beasts romping?

Anders hesitantly lifted his hand to pet the creature, at Fenris’ behest.

Master continued to allow this. Whenever he took them to the courtyard, Anders’ eyes began to look for the limping cat. If it came to him, he pet it and held it to him. He spoke excitedly of it to Fenris in the privacy of their cell. He spoke of the cat’s soft fur, the delicate paws, the velvety ears. The cat was a yellow tabby, like his cat in the Grey Wardens had been. He didn’t remember that cat’s name, anymore. It was so long ago.

Fenris was grateful the animal had come around. Anders was more animated than he’d been since the spirit potion had hurt him so badly. Anything that made Anders feel good was a blessing. He listened to him talk about the cat, with endless patience. 

One day, as Fenris went through the act of pleasing Master in the courtyard, he darted a quick eye toward Anders, petting the cat on his lap. Suddenly, his ear was painfully twisted and he was jerked away from his task. Master’s incensed face was in front of his.

“You will remember where your devotion lies, Slave,” Master hissed. He flung a hand in Anders’ direction. Fenris heard Anders gasp sharply, and Master turned the elf’s alarmed face toward the kneeling mage. 

Anders’ arms held the cat, limp and lifeless. Anders himself was shaking, his face a mask of horror.

Master’s voice murmured in Fenris’ ear, foul hand stroking the elf’s hair. “The cat was damaged, after all. It’s a mercy to kill a damaged pet, so it need not suffer.”

His meaning was clear. Anders was Fenris’ damaged pet. One day, should Master desire, he might so easily be dispatched. Fenris watched as Anders gently lay the cat on the grass, biting back his emotions.

“Take your sick pet from my sight. I grow weary of his presence.”

Fenris ran to Anders, untied his leash, and pulled his hand, running him from the courtyard.

The moment they were back in their cell, Anders broke into sobs. Fenris held him tightly, rocking him. There were no words to say. Fenris felt a finality in Master’s cruel words and crueler act. There was no hope for either of them. It was merely a matter of time until Master took one away from the other, either by death... or, something worse. 

His tears drying, Anders lifted his head and pressed his lips to Fenris’ in a sweet, fervent kiss. “Fenris, love me. Just once. Let us have that, before....” Before he was killed. Before they were torn from one another. Before starvation left them too weak to embrace.

So, Fenris loved him. Loved him with all that he had, all of his hope, all of his sorrow. They had acted-out sex, many times. Had participated in a farce of pleasure for others. This was beyond that. Their souls had been in communion for... an eternity. Expressing that physically, for comfort, for themselves, was no hardship. He found he needed the connection as much as Anders.

Fenris started with Anders’ lips, and made slow, tender love to him. He worshipped Anders’ body with a fervor their master had never, and would never, know. For the first time, Fenris felt his flesh rise without the impulse of a potion. He kissed every part of Anders, stroked every inch of his skin. He took his mage’s rising flesh in his mouth with a gentleness and delight he’d never before given nor received. The sweetness of their pleasure was nearly more than he could bear. Neither could enter the other, didn’t want the act they’d been compelled to perform in blood and fear. 

They held tightly, melding into one another. Fenris cradled Anders between his quivering thighs as they slid their wanting flesh together. Rocking together, breathing together, they were transported. The cell, their collars, their misery, all disappeared as both strove to give the other a moment of joy. Anders' breath caught, his heart filled, and he whispered Fenris’ name like a prayer, body spending in release. The sound of Anders’ pleasure left Fenris undone. His own voice, rough with emotion, called to Anders as he spent between their cleaving bodies. 

Hearts calming, breath slowing, they kissed the tears from each other’s cheeks. They had this, this moment. It could not be taken from them.

Master seemed to have forgotten them. They were in the kennels for weeks, barely subsisting on the food provided to Fenris. They bathed when sent to the baths. They slept a great deal, weak from malnutrition. Fenris counted Anders’ ribs when they held one another. He felt Anders doing the same with the knobs along his spine.

Then came a day, that Fenris was sent for. He put Anders’ leash on the mage’s collar, and they slowly made their way up the many stairs to kneel before their Master. Fenris glanced at Master, in the surreptitious way of slaves. His face was asymmetrical, one side hanging flaccid.

Master wanted to know why Fenris had a slave on a leash. He wanted to know what had happened to Fenris’ armor.

While Fenris tried to formulate an answer to the bizarre questions, Master fell asleep. A house slave sitting in the corner rose and beckoned them out into the hall. Master became upset and paranoid if he awoke to someone in the room. She explained that Master had taken ill a few weeks ago. He refused see a healer. His mind was lost in the past. 

They returned to their cell. Both knew their time would be short. If Danarius lived, they would slowly starve. If he died, the slaves would be divided with his estate. No other master would want them: a mismatched Matched Set, half-starved, scarred and tattooed to fit a madman’s whim. Anders, particularly, with his psychological deficit, would be summarily euthanized. Fenris knew he would not survive it. Sin in the eyes of the Maker, or no, he would end his life when Anders was dead.

They were abandoned in their cell. No one came for them to bathe. No food was brought. They had been forgotten, or were being left to die on their own. Water was flushed through the lavatory holes daily, through a systemic cleanse. They were able to catch some of it with their hands. 

They weakened, and lay in the curve of each other’s body. They waited for the peace of death. By now, it was welcome.

Until.

The cell door swung open, and a man’s voice called them to follow. They were led out, barely able to walk, and into the ballroom of the House. All the slaves of the House were there. Their names were taken and matched to a list that a clerical slave held. They were sent to kneel beside the wall, with the rest. Anders' strength gave out, and he listed to the side. Fenris supported him, held him against him.

Hours passed. No one told them what was happening. They shared glances, stroked hands, dared to press small kisses to each other's face. Both knew... it would not be long before they said final goodbyes. 

Finally, guardsmen wearing an unfamiliar emblem on their uniforms entered the ballroom. They presented a writ to the men in charge. They were pointed in their direction. As the men approached, Fenris pulled Anders more tightly against him. They were too weak to resist or run. There was nothing to do but accept their fate.

One of the men examined the writ, again.

“Fenris! Anders!”

They fell forward in a bow, still embracing.

“Lord Pavus has acquired your sale. Come with us.”

Fenris felt dizzy. They'd been sold. Who would want them? They were shackled, and when Anders couldn’t walk, Fenris tried to carry him. He could barely lift his own arms with the shackles in place. The guardsmen carried him, with surprising gentleness. Fenris followed them to a cart in the driveway, and as soon as Anders was laid out on the bottom, Fenris lay against him.

He didn’t know who Lord Pavus was, nor why he wanted them. He couldn't know their condition. No one who saw them now would want them. Was Master dead? He clung to one thought: wherever Anders went, be it to a new Master or to death, Fenris would follow.

The cart was driven over long roads, through countryside, through a village, and into the countryside again. Finally, they pulled into the drive of a huge villa. They were unloaded, and a slave led the group through hallways and rooms. The slaves in this house all wore tunics with their names embroidered on them. They smiled, and chatted together as they worked. He’d never seen such a thing.

They were brought to a room with cots and potions and medical supplies... a clinic? He hadn’t seen a clinic since... since... had Anders worked in a clinic? Anders was laid on a cot, and Fenris followed, climbing up beside him.Their shackles and Anders’ rough collar were removed. As soon as his arms were free, Fenris wrapped them about the mage. Anders’ wide eyes met his. What was happening?

A woman--ethereal, gentle-- spoke kindly to them. She told them that they were in the home of Dorian Pavus. Danarius was dead. Lord Pavus had acted quickly, as soon as he’d heard that they had been in Danarius’ possession. He’d managed to assume ownership of Fenris and Anders, to have them brought here. She was going to heal them, help them regain their health and strength. They would not be harmed in this House. 

Fenris listened carefully, the words doing nothing to set his mind at ease. Who was Master Dorian, and why had he worked so hard to acquire them? Why were they being treated so kindly? He watched the slaves assisting her. They didn’t act like slaves. They acted like apprentices. They were at ease, and worked with her in a pleasant manner. 

She was fussing over Anders, now. When he didn’t answer her questions, she did not become angry, or have him punished. She simply posed the questions to Fenris, instead. She asked when they last ate and drank, if they had pain or injuries. The slaves assisting her were giving them small sips of water. She examined Anders’ suppression collar, shaking her head, and left it in place. She then looked at Fenris’ decorative collar, and snapped it off. 

She cast healing magic over them, then, and Fenris felt a myriad of injuries heal. She said they would be bathed, and receive food.

They were taken from the clinic and into another room that looked like someone's private chamber. There was a bed, a table, and an attached bathing room. The slaves gently helped Fenris to remove his clothes, and get into the tub. The water was warm. When the slaves lowered Anders into the water, Fenris moved to take him in his arms, seeing his fear. Fenris was too weak to wash either of them, so the slaves washed them both, allowing them keep their arms about each other. They were both uneasy, it all felt surreal. They were in a master’s bathtub, in a master’s bedroom. Their eyes locked in trepidation. 

By the time the slaves had finished washing and drying them, they were cleaner than they’d been in months. They smelled of scented soaps and shampoos. Their mops of hair were gently combed, and they were helped to clean their teeth. They were dressed in simple, cotton shifts, and taken into the bedroom. Fenris assumed they would be commanded to serve a master or mistress’s body, having been so well groomed. He didn’t know how they would manage it, in their condition.

Instead, their new mistress met them at the table, motioned to the chairs, and told them to eat. Once they were seated, they both were ready to drop onto their knees in an instant. What were they doing in chairs, at a table?

There were two bowls of porridge in front of them. Fenris ignored the spoons, slaves weren't allowed utensils. He lifted a bowl to Anders' lips, helped him eat. They both sipped at the porridge, one sip to Anders, one to Fenris, until the bowl was empty. Fenris wiped both their chins, licking his fingers clean. They lowered their eyes to the table, waiting for whatever came next.

Mistress was watching them with a sad expression. She didn't speak, so they stayed as they were, beginning to shake with exhaustion. She finally said they should sleep, that she would bring more food, in a few hours. She gestured to the bed, and Fenris blinked in surprise. They would sleep in a bed? Fenris was somewhat stronger, now, revived by the food. He was able to help Anders to the bed on his own. When they crawled into it, Mistress herself pulled up the covers, scaring the daylights out of them-was she going to punish them for getting on the bed? She didn't. She simply took in the way he and Anders held onto one another, and sighed. 

She said, “I know who you are... who you were. Varric has looked for you ever since you left Kirkwall. You’re safe now. I promise you that. We will take care of you.” She left.

They were alone but for two slave servants who knelt by the door. 

Fenris held Anders, and smelled the scent of the shampoo they’d used. He buried his face in the soft, burnished-gold hair of his mage.

“Anders... my Anders.” 

The man in his arms nuzzled against him, exhausted.

They slept, too tired to think more on what would happen next.


	6. Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris and Anders begin to know their hosts.
> 
> Their hosts realize the frightening depths of their interdependence.

They were awakened a few hours later by Mistress. Fenris had a brief moment of panic. Where was he? Had they fallen asleep in Master Danarius’ bed? He shot awake, shared a glance with Anders, and then they were out of the bed. As quickly as they could manage, in their fatigue, they knelt before her, in sync, faces to the floor and arms outstretched. 

There was no sound for a moment. Then, a man’s voice spoke, “Fasta vass! Evie, they’re nothing but skin and bones!” Fenris quailed inside. This must be their new Master. And, already he was displeased with them.

Then, Mistress’ voice spoke, “Hush, Dorian! You’ll frighten them. Fenris, Anders?” They sat up in unison, eyes cast to the floor. “Don’t kneel to us in this household. And, you can look at us.”

Both men raised their eyes in the quick, oblique slave’s glance. Before dropping their eyes to the floor again, Fenris got an impression of a young man with dark hair and a confident stance. Mistress stood beside Master.

“Come to the table, it’s time for more food and drink. How do you feel?”

As they stood, movements fluid and synchronized, if a bit slow from weakness, Fenris answered her. “Better, Mistress.” They walked to the chairs at the table, Anders slightly behind, and sat. Fenris again pulled his chair against Anders’. They both had more strength, now, after food and rest. They passed a bowl between them, drinking the porridge from its edge. The porridge was nothing like the gruel they had received in their cell. This was fine, smooth, lightly sweetened. The juice was light, and felt good going down their throats. They were quickly full, and dropped their gazes to the table, waiting. 

Mistress asked them questions about their health and how they felt. Fenris answered all the questions, even those directed to Anders.

“Fenris, why do you speak for Anders?”

“He is my slave, Mistress.”

"How is that?"

“Master Danarius gave him to me, Mistress.”

“Are you both happy with that arrangement?”

"If Mistress is happy with it, we are happy with it."

"Of course, you are." She paused in thought. "You don't need to call me 'Mistress.' My name is Evelyn Trevelyan. Eve, is fine."

The man spoke, then. “Allow me to introduce myself... I am Dorian Pavus, and you are guests in my home. What you do here will depend entirely upon you, but that’s a discussion for another time. 

“I count Varric Tethras among my select friends. He has told me many tales of the two of you. Including how you came to fall under Danarius’ control. He’s been searching for you since you left Kirkwall."

Fenris was surprised to hear this. He remained silent. Slaves spoke when told to, or when asked a direct question.

“Danarius made you a Matched Set, didn’t he?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Unusual pairing. You’re not expected to act as a Set, here. You’re not even expected to be slaves. However, certain powers in the Magisterium would like to take possession of Fenris, were he free. You’re both safer under ownership of House Pavus, for now.”

Fenris didn’t know that being under Master Dorian’s ownership was any better than being under another Master’s. Although, at the least for now, he and Anders were together. Unless... Master said they were not to be a Matched Set. Did that mean they would be separated? He was having trouble understanding all that Master Dorian was saying. Hopefully, Anders was following better than he, and could explain it, later.

“Can you tell me what happened to Danarius? His entire estate is in shambles. His situation was decidedly foul.”

Fenris was cautious. Speaking of Masters was treacherous territory. “Master Danrius was ill, Master.”

"Yes. Well. That much was clear." Fenris had been casting glances at Master Dorian as he spoke. Their new Master was bold; in his manner, his speech, and his bearing. He was very young, with jet black hair and a curling mustache. 

Mistress spoke then. She told them that she and Master would both retire for the night, but that food would continue to be brought for them every few hours. If they needed anything, there were servants outside the door. 

Both Mistress and Master stood, and surprised them by bidding them goodnight. Then, they were left alone, again.

Fenris and Anders looked at each other. Sitting in chairs at a table, bellies full, clean, healed... they were nonplussed. In just the past few hours, their world had been upended. Fenris knew that most people would celebrate in these circumstances. Fenris also knew better. All good things were followed by bad things. And, those bad things were followed by more bad things. The only good thing in his world was Anders. 

Fenris was tired. He saw Anders’ eyelids drooping. He finally stood, and led Anders to the bed, again. He tucked his mage into the silken sheets on the too-soft bed, wondering vaguely when they would be punished for sleeping there. He crawled in beside him. 

“I feel like I’m in the Fade,” Anders commented. “Nothing seems quite as I know it.”

“I can’t make heads or tails of our new Master,” Fenris said. “Or, what’s going to happen.”

Anders' arms wrapped about Fenris’ prominent ribs, and pulled him against him. He breathed Fenris’ scent deeply, opening his mouth against his throat to taste his skin.

“I miss your scent. You smell like citrus and cloves.”

Fenris was likewise burying his face in Anders' neck. "We both do." He continued to suck at Anders’ skin, and finally, under the overlay of soap and scents, he found what he sought. Anders. His Anders. He sighed. For now, in the soft bed, in the dark and quiet, with full bellies, there was peace.

Three weeks later, both felt much stronger. Their duties had consisted of eating, sleeping, answering questions about their digestive tract, and eating some more. Even now, after several weeks of nearly solid sleep, fatigue continued to pull them to bed for frequent naps. Mistress monitored their intake, and changed their diet. 

They’d been graduated to regular foods, which was novel in itself. They had subsisted on gruel and occasional scraps from Danarius’ table for such a long time. Their jaws were sore, at first, from chewing solid foods. They’d also had to endure their bodies’ adjustment to the new diet... running to the bathroom frequently as their overstimulated intestines moved things through too rapidly. 

Using actual toilets, with plumbing, was surreal. Bathing when they wanted, and in warm water, was hard to get used to. They finally resorted to using a minimum of the soap and shampoo in the bath. Both were so heavily scented, it overrode important parts of their connection: taste and smell. 

Both Master and Mistress had told them that they needn't refer to them as "Master" or "Mistress." They could call them Dorian and Evelyn. Neither Fenris nor Anders could bring themselves to do so. It had been a suggestion, not an order. Such familiarity was forbidden to slaves.

Master Dorian visited them regularly, which was confusing to both of them. He didn’t command them. He asked questions, of their health, of their time in Kirkwall, of Danarius’ decline. But, he also simply talked, as though they were company, and he their host, regaling them with stories of his day, or household events. He didn’t comment when Fenris was unable to remember, or when it was simply too hard to speak. Master smoothly moved on, glossing over the uncomfortable subject. He spoke as though both Fenris and Anders were participants in the conversation; though the truth was, Anders rarely did more than listen.

Although Master came by frequently, it was Mistress Eve they saw the most. She was devoted as their healer, and checked their blood, their hearts, their pain and their elimination on a regular basis. She always explained everything she did, and why. Like Master, she was patient with them when answers were difficult. And, like Master, she never pushed Anders for participation. Fenris was more grateful for that, than anything else they did. Mistress used her healing magic not only for fresh ailments or injuries, but to feel for deeper, older ones.

“I can sense that you both have significant rectal scarring. It could make elimination difficult, or sexual activity painful. Healing magic won’t rid scarring. But, I have a potion that will help internal adhesions resorb, and scar tissue soften.”

They both listened with no sign of alarm. Modesty or secrets had not been allowed to them for some time.

“I can apply it for you, if you like. Or, would you rather apply put it on each other?”

"We can do it, Mistress."

“Alright. Twice daily, and after toileting.” She handed him the jar. 

“Fenris, I’ve noticed a lot of magic imbedded in your lyrium lines. Would you like me to see about removing it?”

“No, Mis--As Mistress wishes.” He covered his lapse quickly.

“I caught that ‘No’.” She seemed rather pleased by it. “I’ll leave it, for now. And, although you spend a lot of time sleeping, would you like something to do, in here? You’ve got to be bored. Something to read, maybe, or a deck of cards?”

Fenris was surprised. Although both he and Anders could read, it was not permitted for slaves. Was this a trick? He also couldn’t see how they could be bored. Being fed, healed, together... it was paradise. At least, while it lasted. He betrayed none of those thoughts.

"As Mistress wishes."

"Of course," she said. She always seemed so unhappy when he said that. "I’ll have something brought in.” She looked at the room, with its bed, and a table with straight back chairs. “And, maybe some more comfortable seating.”

When she left, Fenris was ready for another nap. He wondered if they would sleep the rest of their lives away. Anders suggested they use the potion, first. Lying on the bed, each coated a finger, and gently smoothed the greasy stuff into their internal tissue, feeling for the rough ridges of scarring. As Anders applied it to Fenris, his finger stroked over his prostate. Fenris jolted in surprise, grunting softly. 

“Did that hurt?” Anders murmured, concerned.

“No... definitely not....” Anders did it again, slower.

Fenris shook with a delightful shiver. "What is that?" he asked in wonder.

Anders' mouth curved in a small smile. "That’s your prostate... the sweet spot." He continued stroking him there. "You've never been touch--? No, of course not..."

Fenris was sinking into the sensation. He'd only felt arousal, without a terrible potion, one time in his life; in the cell, with Anders. This was... so good. He felt himself begin to harden.

Anders lay along his side, watching the elf’s face bloom, carefully continuing his ministration. Fenris looked up at him with wistful eyes. “Anders? Love me....”

The mage’s mouth curved in an indulgent smile. He was happy to oblige.

Soon, Fenris was panting, his arousal hard and weeping against his stomach as Anders’ caress continued over his sweet spot. He turned his face into Anders' neck, sucking on the tender skin there, tasting him, smelling him, feeling the pleasure grow. So easy... it was so easy. No fear, no pain. Just delight.

Anders was gently relentless. His own body was responding to Fenris' pleasure, moving himself against the elf's hip. The suction on his neck turned into a deep bite as Fenris shuddered with pleasure, and reached his peak, body spending across his belly.

He heard Anders groan as the elf’s teeth sank into his neck, felt the mage thrust against him. Fenris heard him gasp as he reached his own peak, and collapse against the elf. He pulled the panting mage to him. A defined bite mark graced Anders' neck. He ran his tongue over it.

"Did I hurt you...?" 

Anders touched the mark, satisfaction in his expression. "No. You aroused me."

The pleasure had been unexpected. Sharing it with Anders was intensely satisfying. He felt a lessening of some of the anxiety they'd felt since arriving. 

No one had demanded service from them, of any kind. Not as servants, not as body slaves. He had considered that serving Master Dorian might not be so bad. He was attractive, clean, and seemed kind under his pomposity. Mistress Eve was kind, too, though he had no idea how to pleasure a woman. Anders might... perhaps he should ask him, just in case. He hoped to avoid being ordered to perform that way. Sex meant pain and degradation. The only exceptions he’d ever experienced were the two blissful, private sharings he'd now had with his Anders.

Fenris curled around his mage, tired of thinking. They slept. Again.

When they awoke, they were surprised to see a couch had been brought into the room while they slept. The table now held two books, and a deck of Diamond Back cards. Fenris jumped up and ran to the table. He looked at the titles of the books. One was a book of Orlesian poetry, the other was Hard in Hightown, by Varric Tethras. He remembered Varric... but remembering too much was painful.

Fenris turned to Anders. “Will you read this to me?” he said, holding up the poetry book.

“Of course. Anything you want." He took the book, flipping the pages almost reverently. "It's been so long so I've seen a book.” He glanced at the second book. “Not the other?”

“Not yet.” Anders nodded in understanding.

When Master and Mistress quietly came into the room with supper, they found them on the couch. Anders was sitting with his back against the high armrest, legs stretched along the length of the couch. Fenris sat in the V of his legs, the book held upright on his lap. Anders read aloud, over the elf’s shoulder, arms about Fenris' middle.

Master gave a refined clearing of the throat. Both turned and sat up, in perfect synchrony, gazes dropped to the floor, book carefully set aside.

Master approached, as though to speak, and then his gaze narrowed onto Anders' neck. He reached to tilt Anders' head to the side. Both men twitched uncomfortably. It was the first time Master had shown a physical interest in them. "Now, then, what’s this?" he asked softly, one finger tracing the bruised bite mark Fenris had left on Anders' neck. Anders pressed his lips together, face twitching with anxiety.

Fenris panicked inside. Slaves were generally forbidden to have intimacies with anyone other than their master. He had been careless. They would be punished. Maker, what had he been thinking? He hadn't been.

"Master, it's my fault. Forgive me." He fought the urge to go down on his knees. They'd been told not to kneel.

"This was your doing?" Master seemed surprised, though Fenris wasn’t sure who else Master thought would leave a bite mark on Anders’ neck.

"Yes, Master." He could feel Anders shaking beside him, knew his anxiety was growing. Master was watching Anders' reaction, frowning, thinking. 

He turned and addressed Mistress. "You'll speak to Anders about this, if I speak to Fenris?"

"Absolutely."

"Fenris, join me, if you would, in...” Master looked about at the room’s limitations. “Well, in the bathroom, I suppose."

Fenris and Anders shot each other glances. For nearly three years, they had been in constant contact. Never more than a few steps away, always in eyesight. Matched Sets didn’t leave one another to go into a different room. The only security they had had since being Matched was each other’s constant presence. The bathroom was so far from where Anders sat. In a still-strange place. And, Master seemed unhappy with them. 

Even as Fenris resisted inside, he automatically stood to comply. "Master...." he began.

"We’ll just have a quick word. Just in here," Master was moving to the adjoining bath chamber. Fenris began to follow, head turning to see Anders. The mage on the couch wore a mask of fear. Fenris couldn’t believe he was walking away from Anders when he so obviously needed him. Their eyes stayed connected as Fenris followed Master through the doorway. 

Master closed the door, and casually leaned back against it.

Anders was out of reach and out of sight. Fenris had no idea what was happening to his mage. This had been their greatest fear, all along. He dropped like a stone to his knees. Fenris knew better than to speak unless spoken to, yet his words flew from his lips. "Master... please forgive my actions. Please don't take him away.... Punish me in any other way, I beg you!"

Master looked confused. "Take him away? Whatever are you on about?"

"Master... forgive me... we should not have done it... please don't take him away from me...." He struggled to keep his voice steady, to keep himself from losing control entirely and forcing his way past Master and back through the door.

Master was shaking his head. "Fasta vass... I only intend to ask you question. Anders isn’t--"

Then, through the door, Fenris heard the muffled sound of Anders’ frightened voice. He fell to his belly, and kissed Master's feet.

"Kaffas!" He pulled Fenris off of his belly. "Fenris, this is really--"

Fenris interrupted, talking fast to convince Master before any plans were carried-out. "Please Master... keep us together. We can pleasure you... we have been trained to do all things together... you would not regret it....” And, then, he lost all composure. Panicked tears fell. "Master. I can’t live without him... He’s everything. He’s my all." He was looking directly at Master, through tear-filled eyes, with desperate appeal.

Master squatted down. He took Fenris' shoulders in his hands. "Kaffas... feel you shake." Master jerked a thumb in the direction of the other room. "He's right through that door!"

Fenris shook his head, desperately. He knew he was going to be punished for this unseemly display. He’d interrupted Master, looked him in the face, dared to show emotion. 

Master continued. "I wouldn't normally be so blunt, but I see this requires quick-cutting. That bite mark... his fear... Did you have sex with Anders against his will?"

Against Anders’ will? He began babbling. "Never, Master... I'm sorry we pleasured each other. We know better. We can be good slaves, Master, we can. We are. We just got confused. If Master brought him in here, right now...we could show you why we're together. We know how to please. We know how to accept pain.” He could hear Anders crying. “Please... he’s afraid...."

"You didn't command him? As your slave? It was consensual?"

The tears wouldn’t stop, his voice was cracking, “I could never hurt my Anders, Master. Please... let me go to him."

Master was watching him, a sad, contemplative look on his face. He finally stood, and opened the door. "Go to your Anders."

Fenris leapt to his feet and raced across the room. Anders was prostrate on the floor, at Mistress' feet, sobbing. Fenris fell on him, pulling him up and against him, unheeding of Mistress, knowing only the need to comfort his mage.

Anders straddled his legs, wrapping his arms about Fenris' neck. "Fenris,” he sobbed, “I was alone..."

"I'm sorry... I'm here... I'm here."

He held him, his lungs finally filling, his heart beating again. He supposed they'd only been apart a few moments, but it seemed an eternity. He dried his tears in the mop of Anders' hair. He breathed in his scent, felt his warmth, heard his hiccuping sobs. "Anders. I'm here. I have you. My Anders, my own self."

He rocked them, whispering in the mage's ear, squeezing him tightly against his body. He felt Anders' mouth lock on his neck, sucking, tasting, seeking comfort. Fenris cupped the mage's head, holding his mouth in place. He felt his own face contorting as he tried to bring his emotions under control. Anders... his Anders.... 

Anders' hand reached to stroke the elf's cheek, sliding across his lips. Fenris drew the fingers into his mouth, suckling them gently. He filled his senses with Anders, confirming that he was here, with him, in his arms. He would never leave him again... not even for a moment. Not even for Master.

He heard Master and Mistress speaking to each other.

"Maker's mercy," he heard Mistress breathe, softly. "Dorian..." 

"Yes, I know," Master answered. "He fell completely apart the moment the door closed. I've never seen anything like it. It was all I could do to get him to answer me. He insists he's never forced Anders. He begged forgiveness and assured me... repeatedly... that they could please me as a pair, if only they could stay together." He paused. "He said he couldn't live without him. I honestly don’t believe it was romantic folderol."

"That's pretty much what I go from Anders. I've never heard so many words from him in all the time he's been here. As soon as Fenris was out of sight, he came apart. What happened to them? How did they get like this? I've never seen two people so...."

"Obsessively devoted? I know. Neither have I. He couldn’t bear to be in another room. There’s more at play here than we suspected, Eve."

“I believe you’re right. I really need to know more about their time with Danarius, in order to understand. But, now’s not the time.”

Finally, Master spoke again. "Gentlemen..." Master said quietly. Fenris and Anders pulled apart far enough to kneel, side-by-side, before him.

"I truly regret traumatizing you. I didn't realize.... Well. Now we do. You have done nothing wrong. You are certainly not forbidden to have an intimate relationship. By all means, find joy in one another. We were simply concerned that.... well. Why don’t you rest, and we’ll talk later."

Master looked at them a bit longer, his face serious, then he led Mistress from the room.

Fenris immediately swung his leg over Anders’ lap, and straddled him. "I was so sure... Anders... I was so sure...." Anders nodded, knowing exactly what he'd felt, what he'd feared. As Fenris shook with emotion, Anders held him, rubbing his back and shoulders, soothing him. “They’ll get rid of us, now, for certain,” Fenris said. “I’ve made a mess of things.”

“I don’t think so. I think they want to help us. I think they’re just going to ask us a lot of very painful questions.”

“How do you know?”

“Because that’s what I would have done.”

Finally, Anders got awkwardly to his feet, with Fenris in his arms, unwilling to let go for even a moment. He carried him to the bed, and gently lay them both upon it. Holding on to each other for dear life, they pulled the covers over their heads, hiding from the traitorous world. Exhausted by their trauma and tears, they fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, it's the Quizzie. A bit off-canon to have her here, now; but it'll all even-out, don't be scared. 
> 
> And, uh, no... this is NOT going to be a Dorian/Trevelyan romance. 'Cause, Evelyn is a girl. So, again, don't be scared.


	7. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian makes a few things clear.
> 
> He and Eve hear the terrifying story.

The next day, both Master and Mistress came for the promised talk. Sitting close, entwining their fingers, Fenris and Anders watched them with wary glances.

Master began. “Eve and I had always intended to have a deeper conversation with you both; when you were strong enough, and the time seemed right. Given yesterday’s misunderstanding, that time seems to be now. I think a few points of interest are due to be made clear.” He looked at them with serious intent. 

“First, although House Pavus holds legal ownership of you both, it’s merely a formality. I bought you to free you, once you’re healthy and your safety is assured.

“We need you both to be able talk with us. You have every right to tell us if we say or do something that distresses you. Although I loathe to give you orders, I suspect it may be easier for you if I do." He blew out his air, an expression of reluctant resolve on his face. "So, that in mind: Regardless of your legal status, you are no longer to comport yourselves as slaves. You are not a Matched Set. Anders, you are no longer Fenris’ slave.

"In line with that, do not bow, do not kneel, and do not use the terms Master or Mistress. That goes for Evie and me, or anyone else you may meet.

“If you don’t wish to answer a question, eat a food, or take a bath, then don’t. 

“If you have something to say, speak your mind. Look at us, if you like. I’m worth looking at, if I say so myself. I’d hate for you to miss the view.

“Do you understand this, so far?”

Both men glanced at each other. “Yes, Master... Dorian. Yes, Dorian.”

Dorian continued. “Now, I will admit, I felt terrible after the bathroom debacle. And, I detest feeling terrible. Obviously, you both felt much worse than I. 

“So, hear this, and do try to believe it: You will not be sold. You will not be separated. You will not be punished. You will not be given commands. You will absolutely not be compelled to provide sexual favors. 

"Do you understand?"

"Yes, Dorian," they replied in perfect unison. 

Dorian shook his head at their continued synchronizations. “I imagine some habits will be longer in the breaking than others.” He sighed. "Alright, then. You'll not be hearing orders from either of us, again. You are my guests, valued and welcome guests. With a very unique set of circumstances."

Eve spoke then. "We would like to ask you some questions, if you're comfortable with that. Knowing more about your past few years will help us to help you."

Fenris frowned. Danarius had asked them questions, only to use their answers in frightening ways. "Help us to do what?"

Eve beamed approvingly at his question. "Help you heal, Fenris. Help you build a new life."

Anders leaned close to the elf. "I told you so," he murmured.

Fenris met his gaze, expression softening. He glanced at the pair. "Ask your questions."

Dorian's mustache twitched slightly. "I've gotten the feeling you're not comfortable talking about your former Master. Might you feel a sense of obligation to him?"

Fenris spoke. "No, not exactly."

"Do you fear reprisal should you speak ill of him?”

“Yes, we do."

“Well, let’s put that fear to rest right now. Danarius was a sick, twisted swine. My parents detested him, and as I grew up, I came to feel the same. Anything you say that is unflattering to him, or shows him in poor light, will fall on sympathetic ears, I assure you. I cannot express my regret deeply enough that you spent so long under his control."

Eve spoke. “Varric said you left Kirkwall with Danarius in late 9:37. Were you with him the entire time?”

“We were.”

"Varric had scouts and spies looking for you. He said no one ever saw you. Have you been at Danarius' estate this entire time?"

"Yes."

"Did he ever take you out?"

Over several hours, Dorian and Eve asked questions. Fenris answered as well as he could. 

He talked about Anders’ suppression collar, the warding of his lyrium. He spoke of Anders’ extended breaking in the beginning, his transformation to Match Fenris. The long hours of perfecting themselves as a Matched Set, practicing every movement, every word. He told them of the lust potions, the performances, the beatings. He was frank regarding the services they were expected to provide to Danarius and his guests. He spoke of the times of being forgotten in their cell, the half-rations they shared near the end. 

He told them of Danarius’ descent into madness. The evil that never relented, the constant vigilance against the magister’s whims, pleasures, and failing memory. 

Even though he could tell the facts, the emotions that went with them were harder to translate. Although he tried, there was simply no way to describe the encompassing fear of being made blind, deaf, and dumb. Of the desperate way he and Anders survived the months of isolation by melding, giving themselves to one another, becoming one another. 

He told them of the potion Anders had been given to kill the Fade spirit. Of begging Danarius for his life; of his frightening days of heartache, waiting to see if Anders would live or die. Of Anders being made his pet. He didn’t speak of the cat; knowing how badly it hurt the mage, still.

And, though he tried, he didn’t know how to describe the connection that he and Anders shared. How could anyone understand that when he looked at Anders’ breathtaking visage, he saw a part of himself. That, in his soul, Anders was him. That he could no more leave Anders behind, than he could leave his heart or lungs behind, and still live.

Many times, Dorian and Eve would swear or exclaim; or stand and pace, their horror plain. Through most of it, Dorian sat and listened, hand over his mouth, eyes intense; nodding as though something finally made sense to him, but he did not like the sense it made. He questioned them about the potion Anders took, in detail; how it looked, tasted, felt, the effects it caused. He took several moments to look more closely at the suppression collar. Eve wrote many notes, her hand often shaking.

Through the retelling, Anders sat quietly. He held Fenris’ hand tightly, listening as he spoke and answered questions. Occasionally, when the memories’ pain grew too much, Fenris pulled Anders close, and buried his face in the burnished gold of his hair; finding peace for a moment, before continuing.

By the time their entire story was told, they were all exhausted. They sat in silence, the images in all their minds slowly losing their nauseating hold. Food was brought to the room for all four. 

Mostly, it was quiet. Everyone was a bit raw. None had the stomach to eat very much.

Dorian spoke. "I am more sorry than I can possibly say, for what you've been through. So sorry that I separated you, yesterday. I had no idea....”

Eve interjected, “Dorian, you couldn’t possibly know. But, it’s true, we are both very sorry.”

When all had eaten what they could, Dorian looked at them intently.

"I meant it when I said that I will free you. I’ll do it now, if that's what you desire."

"Thank you."

"I don't want you to fall into the wrong hands, again. You have much greater protection now, then you will when you are free."

"We understand, Dorian.”

"I can't even imagine... I shudder to think...." Dorian's face was drawn, frowning deeply. "I don't know how you had strength to survive it."

Anders spoke, then. "We became each other," he said simply.

Dorian looked at the pair. Their bodies shared space in complete rapport. A single glance between them was a conversation. Their expressions conveyed utter devotion.

"So you did."

Once Dorian and Eve had taken their leave, Fenris moved across the room and lay down on the couch, pulling Anders on top of him. It was like pulling the most sumptuous, comforting blanket over himself.

"That was excruciating," he said into golden hair. "And, exhausting."

"It was easier than living through it."

"You're right. As usual." His hands stoked down Anders' back. The shifts they still wore were thin, he could feel Anders' ribs and spine through it. "You're already putting on weight."

"Mm-hm. We both are."

Fenris thought a moment. "Seeing them angry about it all... It makes it easier to believe they won't do those things.”

"Do you think you can trust them?"

“I don’t know, Anders. Trust hasn’t given me much, in my experience. I want to trust, for your sake. I want to believe that you’ll be safe, that we can live some kind of life.” His breath hitched. “You’ve had so much pain... I can’t bear for you to hurt, anymore.” 

Anders calmed him with soft kisses and gentle hands. “I’m alright, I’m right here, and we’re both safe....”

They lay for a long while, hearing each other breathe, feeling each other's heartbeat. 

Anders spoke. "Varric looked for us."

"So they said.”

Anders shook his head. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t he do something, in the first place? Why look for us later? Why didn’t he try to stop it? Why didn’t any of them? They just stood by and let Hawke give us up.”

“I don’t know,” Fenris agreed. “I thought about that a lot, in the beginning.”

"If I ever see Hawke again, I will kill him," Anders said.

"Not if I do it, first."

"We'll do it together."

"We're good at doing things together," Fenris pointed out.

Anders rolled off of the elf, pulling him to lie chest-to-chest on their sides. "I must be getting heavy."

"Thank the Maker for that." Fenris stroked Anders' shaggy hair, pushing it off of his face. "You used to wear it pulled back," he remembered.

"Mm-hm. It's growing out. I should ask Eve how to have it cut."

"Do you want to? We don't have to be a Matched Set, anymore."

Anders smiled. "I like to look like you. I think you're beautiful."

Fenris gazed at him. "You're like the sun, golden and warm." He kissed Anders, then, soft and sweet. "Your kiss, your eyes, your hair... all like honey," he said, fingers playing lightly across Anders' lips. 

Anders sucked two of those fingers into his mouth, eyes closing as he tasted the elf. He let his tongue wind about the digits, his mouth working them with frank sensuality. Fenris felt the suction like it was on his hardening flesh. His body begin to rise as the mage sucked on those digits, his arousal pressing between their bellies. 

Anders let loose of the fingers, and pulled the elf's mouth to his with a hand in the silky white hair. He heard Fenris groan, felt his tongue tasting of his mouth. "You would never hurt me... I was sick that they thought you did," he whispered vehemently.

Fenris panted around the words, "Never... never hurt my mage...." he moved himself against Anders, feeling the mage's answering hardness. He adjusted his hips so their arousals met through the barrier of their shifts. He felt himself transported. His breath exhaled in moans. "When you touch me this way..." He buried his face in Anders’ hair, "... everything is made right."

Anders responded in kind, his body moving with Fenris'. He attached his mouth to the elf's throat, sucking hard, moaning at the taste of him. They rutted together, sliding against each other's cloth-covered hardness, heat filling their bellies. 

Anders finally grasped Fenris' hips, grinding hard against him, pleasure building, heat consuming him. His mouth tore from Fenris' throat, voice desperate. "Fenris... oh, Maker...."

Fenris' hand was scrabbling, lifting their shifts, grasping both their shafts in one hand. He squeezed them hard, mouth sucking intently on the mage’s neck. Anders' hand joined his, and they stroked together. Harsh pants heralded the climb to completion. "Anders... together... oh.... oh.... now...."

Each felt the other shudder violently, heard the other's groan and whimper, felt the other's hot seed coat their stomachs. 

Foreheads pressed together, they gasped as they caught their breath. After a moment, Fenris shook his head. "Never have I desired sex. It was always painful, always forced. I spent a decade in freedom, and in that time, my only thought about it was how relieved I was to leave it behind. I’m confused by this desire, Anders. I want you, so much. I can’t get close enough. Why?”

Anders stroked his hand into the elf's hair. “I can't say, Fenris. You've had so much pain. Maybe the Maker has finally decided to give you some joy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Dorian. Wouldn't want them to miss the view, indeed.
> 
> To Be Continued....


	8. Things That Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris and Anders unlearn slavery, and learn about some events they missed.
> 
> Could Anders get his magic back? Does he want to?

Fenris lay down his hand. He'd won. Again. Dorian laughed good-naturedly, while Eve poked his bare shoulder with the cheese knife in gentle ribbing. Anders tossed down his hand, smiling at his elf. Dorian and Eve had reacquainted them with the rules of Diamondback, and joined them for a few hands each evening. Fenris and Dorian were the real competition. The elf appreciated that Dorian never threw a game. He played as though he were betting in a tavern.

For a while, Fenris and Anders had dominated the nightly games. The nonverbal cues they had developed as a Matched Set, to better sync their responses, were the perfect con. Dorian had uncovered it, unintentionally, when his own cheating ran afoul of theirs. Eve had put her foot down, and declared the game a clean table. Dorian urged them to comply, as pissing-off Evelyn Trevelyan could result in a literal, or figurative, gelding. 

Sitting at their small table in simple house servant's livery, grey pants and sleeveless tunics, both men had filled-out considerably. In three months' time, Eve's care, judicious magic-use and potions had worked wonders. Still slender, they’d lost the sharp angles and hollows of near starvation. They were gaining weight and energy. 

More importantly, they were gaining confidence. Dorian’s promises had proven true. After a couple months of peace and respect, Anders and Fenris began to relax into their new environment. With that, their habits of slavery started to unravel. Neither dropped to their knees, anymore. "Master" or "Mistress" only rarely escaped their lips, out of habit. They still tended toward synchronized movements and speech, but it had begun to falter. Not compelled to speak, Anders often let Fenris do the talking. Fenris was more confident, and tended to step forward, or move more quickly. Although sustained eye contact was still difficult for Anders, Fenris was confidently eye-to-eye with most people he met. The people they met were mostly staff in the house. Neither felt ready to meet outsiders, yet. 

They had been offered clothing other than the servant’s livery. Dorian despaired of them wearing the bland, shapeless uniform, and tried to tempt them into “proper attire to suit their position as guests of House Pavus.” Eve told him to “stick his proper attire”, they could wear whatever made them comfortable. Besides, she expected them to put on more weight over the next few weeks before their gain slowed. It didn’t make sense to acquire a wardrobe they would just outgrow in a month.

They slept less and spoke more. Fenris talked the most, partly because he spoke for Anders when the mage couldn’t. Anders was psychologically tender, often ducking his head when nervous. Many things made him nervous; sudden noises, touch, the dark, new people, questions. The mage spoke freely when alone with Fenris, but put another person in the room, and he receded into his protective shell. As he grew more familiar with Dorian and Eve, he relaxed in their presence. He had discussed healing with Eve on many occasions, and given her exceptional insight into his and Fenris’ healing process. 

Fenris was allowing himself to trust that what Dorian had told them was the truth. He desperately wanted it to be, for Anders’ sake. The elf was fiercely protective of Anders, and quick to notice even slight changes in the mage’s expression. He was the one to approach the housekeeping staff about stocking extra candles in their quarters. Fenris made sure one was lit in the corner each night, so that Anders wasn’t startled when he woke in the dark. The elf grew to enjoy the dim, flickering light. He would lay and watch the shadows play over Anders’ face as he slept, feeling his heart constrict with the beauty of the mage. He had no idea that Anders was doing the same thing to Fenris while the elf slept. 

They occasionally left their room if encouraged, and Eve and Dorian encouraged them frequently. Each had a suite of rooms, and hosted meals and games in them regularly. Dorian had offered them a suite of their own, but they declined. Their little room was quite large, in their opinion, and without windows or a second door, felt secure.

There was a passage into an enclosed garden near their room. It was wild, with runners of climbing vines, overhanging trees, thick grass, and swinging hammocks. The men would lie in a gently swaying hammock for hours, looking up at the blue sky, talking in low tones. 

Both Fenris and Anders liked Dorian. It wasn’t easy for Fenris to admit it, simply based on his life-long animosity toward Tevinter magisters. Dorian wasn’t actually a magister, though his father was. But, he’d won Fenris over without even trying. First, by saving their lives. Second, when he’d discussed his mission to reform his beloved country, he’d included his plans for slave rights 

The first thing he’d done in the way of reform was offer freedom to all the slaves working in his estate. Most chose freedom. Some, mostly older, had been slaves for so long that they feared the change, and chose to remain enslaved. The arrangements for compensation varied, but the staff in Dorian’s home were happy and productive. 

Fenris had been astonished to learn this. Magister-to-be or not, Fenris decided that Dorian was a good man. 

When he wasn’t championing slave rights, Dorian was the official Tevinter ambassador to the Inquisition. Upon hearing this, Fenris and Anders had replied in their eery synchrony, “What’s the Inquisition?”

Dorian was aghast. Eve was delighted, and had laughed long and loud. “Oh, how I wish I could say that,” she bemoaned. One evening over a long dinner, Dorian and Eve caught the two men up on all they’d missed in the past six years. The circle revolts, the mage-templar war, red lyrium, Corypheus, Fade rifts, politics, intrigue. The world had been thrown into chaos, and brought back from the brink.

All while Fenris and Anders had been learning to walk and talk and fuck for Danarius’ pleasure. Fenris was disgusted. How much of their lives had been wasted, how much of their knowledge and ability lain fallow as they knelt before a madman? For years, they’d been party favors and whipping boys. Instead of joining in the fight against evil, to help set the world right, they’d been casually defiled. He’d fumed after hearing the story.

Where Fenris was angry, Anders was quiet. He’d missed the mage revolution, and Fenris fully expected a reaction from him. He listened to the tale, nodding his head, and didn’t say a word. He did exclaim in astonishment that Corypheus had come alive. He and Fenris had both fought the magister darkspawn with Hawke and Varric. 

Eve had removed the bracelet she wore on her left wrist, and shown them the green light that shone from her palm. Dagna had made the bracelet, a neat bit of work that hid the light, allowing Eve the anonymity she desired. She had resigned as Inquisitor shortly after the defeat of Corypheus, leaving it in the capable hands of her remaining advisors. Eve had never wanted to be a political leader. Her interests lay in research and scholastic endeavors. She’d accompanied Dorian to Tevinter for several reasons. One was to get away from the notoriety of being the Inquisitor. Another was that mages were still viewed suspiciously in the South. Yet another was to get distance from a faltering romance with the Commander of the Inquisition Forces. She and Dorian lived comfortably together in his house, and shared a deep, playful friendship.

Dorian was grinning at Fenris. "It's a rare man that can beat me so soundly, so frequently," he allowed. 

Fenris quirked his lips. "And, that's just at cards, Dorian."

Anders snorted, squeezing the elf’s thigh. Dorian laughed, shaking his head.

"Well, that's it for me, for tonight. But! I almost forgot. I have a surprise for you."

Fenris was on his feet in an instant, the cheese knife in hand. He and Anders backed from the table, eyes narrowed. Fenris had one arm around Anders, snarling, "You'll have to kill us first."

Dorian and Eve were surprised, to say the least. But, sadly, this wasn't the first time an innocent statement had caused a similar reaction. He and Eve stayed where they were, knowing the pair would calm quickly.

Dorian's voice was measured. "Fenris... you know we're not going to do anything to harm either of you."

The pair glanced at each other, faces falling with chagrin. Fenris relaxed, his heart slowing. “I apologize. Danarius often had surprises for us.”

"Surprises weren't good things, I take it?" Dorian asked gently.

Fenris exhaled heavily. "No. They were not." He sat again, keeping Anders' hand in his. He stuck the knife in the cheese. It had been a bluff, in any case. His lyrium was still warded.

"Good to know," Dorian replied. "Well, this particular bit of information I have is very good.

"I have been corresponding with a leading magicologist regarding Anders. I received a missive, today. He’s traveling through our area, and would like to visit tomorrow.”

Anders leaned forward. “A magicologist? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Really? Just what do the Circles do down there, besides imprison innocents and eliminate magic? How can it be understood without studying it? Honestly. A magicologist studies magic. How it manifests, how it changes, how it flows. Mana, energy, lyrium... It's fascinating, really. I spoke to him about Anders' situation, and he is most interested to examine him. He has already published theories regarding magic suppression. He says he has some leads regarding the potion that was used to destroy the Fade spirit." He turned to Anders. "Are you willing to speak with him? Have him examine you?"

"What will it entail?"

"He may need to scan you, so to speak. Get a feel for your magic's current level behind that collar, your connection to the Fade, the collar's specific effect. If he thinks it’s safe, your collar could be removed, tomorrow.”

Anders nodded, his face expressionless. Fenris watched him closely. "You sure you're comfortable with this?" 

The mage shrugged. "I don’t think it’ll hurt to have him look."

“Wonderful! He’ll be arriving before lunch. You know, Fenris, he could take a look at the wards on your lyrium, if you like. Well, I’m heading to a pile of correspondence, then bed. But, I’d like to leave you with this....” He pulled a package from his belt. 

“I should have thought of this long ago. I was in the market earlier... Well, I picked something up for you. Sorry I didn’t think of it, sooner.” He tossed it to Fenris, and bowed he and Eve’s way out of their room. They heard Eve telling Dorian, “That better not be an Orlesian Tickler, Dorian....”

Fenris carefully unwrapped the package. It was a pot of viscous oil. Anders chuckled.

“What is it?” Fenris asked, sniffing it.

“It’s lubricant. For us. I kind of suspected Dorian preferred men. This makes me think I was right. Who else would think of this?”

“I don’t follow you.”

“It makes friction more pleasant.”

“Oh.” He still wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but if Anders was fine with it, he was fine with it.

When Anders joined Fenris under their covers, the elf broached a topic that had bothered him for a while.

"Anders... why don't you want your magic back?"

"I never said I don't want it back."

"You’ve never said it, but, you don't."

Anders was quiet. Fenris let him think to himself. Eventually, he spoke. 

"You hate mages. You hate magic. You hated me when I had magic. What if Justice is still in me? We both know how you felt about that."

Fenris' eyes closed. He couldn't deny it. He had hated mages, magic, and the Fade spirit. He’d made it clear, repeatedly. He felt terrible. Anders had loved having magic. He’d loved being a Spirit Healer. “Anders... what we were, is no more. That’s no longer how I feel. You know that."

"You became part of me after my magic and Justice were suppressed. You don't know how you'll feel if I get one or both back. We’ll always be one, Fenris. But, I don’t want you to be unhappy about what I bring to us."

"I won’t be unhappy. I'll feel exactly as I do now. I'll always feel as I do now."

Anders didn’t answer. His face in the dim light was sad. He was sad because of Fenris, and the elf couldn’t bear it. He pulled Anders to him, felt the mage mouthing along his neck. He was seeking comfort, still anxious, still unsure. Fenris lifted himself away enough to look into Anders’ eyes. 

“You are my life. Love is such a pale word to describe what I feel. But, I have no other. I love you, Anders. I feel as though I always have, and I know that I always will.  
I will love you no matter what happens, tomorrow. If you wear this collar the rest of your life, if your magic returns, if Justice still resides within you... nothing you bring to us will change my feelings. My love for you knows no bounds.”

Anders’ eyes were alight, wet with tears he wouldn’t let himself shed. He pressed his smiling, quivering lips together, inhaling tremulously through his nose. Finally, the only response he could make without weeping was a series of frantic nods.

Fenris smiled at him, and pulled him back. His mage was happy, again. Fenris’ heart pounded with delight.

He loved his Anders so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I'm doing a lot of teasing, here. Lots of things were only touched-on lightly, or not at all. Give it time! :-D


	9. Of Magic and Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders makes a breakthrough.
> 
> They learn a little about some former friends and acquaintances.

The next morning, Fenris was awakened by exquisite pleasure being milked from his flesh. He gasped awake, eyelids lifting to honey-colored eyes and a bright smile.

“Vasta vass... oh... that’s good....” he gasped out. The mage’s hand was sliding along his shaft, grip tight, so slippery, so smooth. He’d never felt anything remotely like it.

“That’s what the lubricant is for. It’s even better on the inside.”

Fenris couldn’t answer. He was lost in the pleasure. He felt Anders’ mouth cover his own, lips pulling at his. “I want you inside me, Fenris.”

Fenris pulled his wits to him as best he could. “No... I won’t hurt you.” 

“You’re right, you won’t. The scarring in our both our arses has healed. We have this fabulous lubricant. And, I want you. I want you, so much. I want to reclaim our right of choice. Only if you want. We don’t have to. But, I’d like to.”

Fenris tried to think, but he was failing. The unbelievable ecstasy of Anders’ hand sliding along his slick flesh was wonderfully distracting. He’d never penetrated Anders without being compelled by a lust potion. It had always hurt him. Although... once, when they’d had time to prepare themselves.... If Anders wanted this, he was willing to learn how. 

He managed to croak, “If you hurt, even for an instant....”

Anders grinned hugely. “I won’t, don’t worry. I’ve been prepping myself since I started touching you. I’m beyond ready....”

Anders was right. The mage felt no pain. His welcoming moan was ecstatic. If Anders’ slippery hand had been a revelation, his lubricated body was an epiphany. Fenris’ senses overloaded, his eyes falling closed to ground at least one of them.

As he began to move within the mage, moans pulled from his chest. Anders was everywhere; under him, around him, his taste on his tongue, his scent in his nose, his sweet voice in his ears. So hot, so tight, so utterly responsive. This... this... was bliss. 

He knew he’d found Anders’ sweet spot, when the mage arched off the bed, a throaty shout echoing in the chamber. Fenris opened his eyes to see the mage under him. Anders was shuddering, his face awash in pleasure, gasping for air. He was beautiful. Fenris’ heart stuttered at the sight. He was giving Anders this pleasure. Maker preserve him, he was going to spend himself just looking at him.

He let his body find its rhythm, matching Anders’ own. Each stroke sent unimagined pleasures racing to his entire body. His breath struggled, each exhalation a desperate groan. How could anything feel so sublime? He felt the mage writhe under him, his moans wanton. 

Anders’ voice was calling his name, “Fenris! Oh, Fenris.... don’t stop....”

The elf didn’t stop. His hips thrust with abandon, hard, fast, deep. Oh... his body was tingling, tight heat coiling in his belly. He felt Anders under him... the mage was undone. He slammed himself against the elf’s every thrust. Fenris dropped his head to Anders’ shoulder, arms sliding to cup the mage’s head in his palms as they strove together to find completion. 

Fenris felt his end approaching. Oh... the pleasure... the ecstasy... oh, Anders.... “Anders... come with me....together... yes....” 

Anders clutched him, tightly, “Fenris... oh, love....

When he spasmed about the elf’s flesh, Fenris convulsed, unbearable ecstasy taking him. 

He came-to wrapped in tight embrace, Anders weeping into his neck. He lifted his head to see the mage, and was pulled into a hot, desperate kiss. “Anders, what is it?” he asked when his lips were released.

Anders’ face was wet, glowing, smiling. “I’m just happy.”

Fenris smiled in return, and buried his mouth in the mage’s neck. He tasted salt, heat, Anders. His Anders. He felt the collar nudge his cheek. With luck, it would soon be gone. He wondered if Anders would taste different when his magic again flowed freely through him.

Dorian and Eve joined them at their table for breakfast. Fenris and Anders still shared one table setting. First, it was habit, as well as being unable to both eat a full serving. Then, it became a means of each ensuring the other ate what they should. Now, they simply preferred it. It was a very basic sense of providing for each other. 

Anders felt much more at ease regarding the magicologist’s visit. Fenris was in decent spirits, as well, given the wake-up-call they had shared. 

“Fenris, have you thought about having the magicologist look at your lyrium lines?” Eve asked.

“No.”

“Are they too painful?”

“No.” His mood soured. He didn’t want to talk about his lyrium. He wanted to talk about Anders getting his magic back. 

Eve pressed, concerned. “What is it?”

He scowled at their plate. He didn’t want his lyrium back. He’d rather Danarius had removed it from him entirely. “I don’t want it activated.”

Anders turned to him. “Why not?”

“It was no joy to have, Anders. It was painful, and...” he sighed. No reason to hide it. “... it marks me as his creation. His greatest achievement. I do not wish to be his anything.” 

“It gave you profound abilities, did it not?” Dorian asked.

“It did,” Anders answered. “Fenris, it makes you unique, powerful.”

“It makes me a freak. Besides, if you cannot regain your magic, I don’t want to have any damnable powers.” 

“Fenris,” Anders soothed.

“I won’t be a legacy to an evil monster’s insane vision.”

Anders stroked a gentle hand into the elf’s hair. “You’re not. You never will be. You’ll be a legacy to yourself. I want you to be able to protect yourself. And, if I can’t get my magic back, I’ll need all the protection I can get. Right now, we’re both sitting ducks.”

He knew the mage was right. “Fine.” 

The magical specialist was Lord Somebody from House Something-or-Other. Fenris was glad he followed-up his introduction with, “Call me Mervus.”

Mervus was an elderly, portly mage. He had the ragged look of a wealthy man who had more important things to do than bother with his wardrobe. 

He was much more interested in the state of Anders’ magic and collar than in the reason behind his wearing it. With Fenris acting as his voice, Anders answered Mervus' questions. He was fascinated with the idea of Justice, and spellbound by the description of their joining and time together. 

He examined the collar around Anders’ neck in minute detail. He referred to various large, ancient tomes, copying the runes etched on it. He prodded the gems and metals with a variety of tools, and examined Anders’ skin surrounding it. He sent tendrils of his own magic into Anders, feeling for the magic within, the mana, the signature of the collar.

Then, he asked about the potion that had been given to destroy Justice. Either Dorian had forewarned him, or he was naturally empathetic, but he was kind in his questions, and didn’t seem bothered by Fenris speaking for the mage. 

“Yes, I’m sure it was Spiritu Dispus. It’s ancient, and very few know of it. Well, very few have a use for it. Most abominations won’t sit still to drink a potion. According to historical writings, it was fairly innocuous. If you’d not been wearing the collar, the Spirit would have simply been released from your mortal form, and then chased back into the Fade. You’d have had gastric upset, as you described, but that would have been all.”

“What happened to Anders, then? I thought it was killing him,” Fenris asked.

“The collar disrupts the connection between the mage and the Fade. When the Spiritu Dispus was taken, the Spirit couldn’t leave. The potion is like a spiritual corrosive, so to speak. Which is why spirits leave the host when it is taken. I cannot imagine the Spirit survived it. With no access to the Fade, I would liken it to the Spirit being locked in a burning house. I can’t imagine the pain that you, and this Justice, both experienced.”

Anders nodded, face downcast. He pulled Fenris’ hand into his lap and gripped it tightly.

“The killing of the Spirit still encased within you damaged your soul. Not entirely irreparably, but badly enough to need to heal before you could function again. Which was why you became unresponsive after the Spirit’s destruction. Rather like a bad concussion, but instead of a brain injury....”

“A soul injury,” Eve filled-in. 

“Precisely.” He turned to Anders. “You may always have symptoms or deficits of some kind.”

Fenris looked softly at the mage next to him. "He does."

Mervus nodded. “I am sorry. This Justice sounded like a remarkable being.”

Anders looked up, surprised. Fenris realized it was likely the only eulogy the Spirit would get. 

“Now, the collar. It’s very old. Probably handed down through Magister Danarius’ family for generations. It’s effective, obviously, though crude in its way. Rather like using a trebuchet when a hammer will do.

“Your magic is still quite active. You’re clearly powerful, the surge is strong. Your mana reserve is nearly overflowing, really. I anticipate that you will have your full powers when the collar is off.”

Anders was suddenly tense, sitting on the edge of his chair.

“I can remove it, but we’ll need to be in a large area where nothing or no one can be hurt. You’ll likely have a strong flood of accidental, overflow magic. A storm, is more like it. Your power-set included electricity, fire and Spirit Healing?”

Fenris answered. “Mostly. With a few odds and ends.”

“Dorian, do you have a non-flammable space we can utilize?”

“The ballroom is marble and malleable metals.”

“Perfect. The four of us can remain behind a shield while Anders clears his magical system.”

Anders held Fenris’ hand in a crushing grip as they all moved to the ballroom. Mervus cast a dome-shield at one of the room, and moved Anders to stand at the other.

Fenris stood behind the shield with Dorian and Eve, fidgeting. He didn’t care for the distance between he and Anders, but he at least had him in sight. Mervus had cast a personal shield over Anders. It would keep his magical energy in place while the collar was removed and Mervus moved to the safety of the dome shield. He was picking the lock on the collar while Anders stood anxiously, eyes fixed on the elf across the room. 

The mage was startled when the collar clicked open, and then Mervus casually removed it. Anders raised his hand, feeling the skin where the collar had been for so long. Mervus turned and walked quickly to the others. With a gesture, he dispelled the shield about Anders. For a split second, Anders simply stood, his hand at his neck. Then, he erupted. 

His body and limbs pulled rigidly straight, as waves of energy exploded from him, obscuring his form. Colorless, at first, the waves shimmered like heat over a desert. Roiling away from Anders, they slammed into the shield and walls of the room, clashing like thunder. Soon, purples and blues of electrical power shot through the air, joined quickly by red-orange flame, swirling in a maelstrom of heat and energy. As the initial fury of it wore off, Anders became visible again. 

He stood with arms outstretched, head back, basking in the energy that swirled and pulsed around him. Fenris thought he looked as he did in the throes of passion. He heard the mage’s voice, then. He was laughing... full-throated laughter was shaking his chest and joining in the roar of power filling the room. Fenris grinned. His Anders was happier than he’d ever seen him, since the moment they met in Kirkwall. He felt Dorian’s hand clap his shoulder, saw him lift a hand to wipe suspicious moisture from his eyes. Eve was hanging on Dorian, her face filled with wonder at the spectacle of magic playing out before them.

Anders lifted his head and his eyes met with Fenris’. He held his arms toward him, and beckoned. Without hesitation, Fenris ran through the shield and into the storm. A path was shielded for him by Anders, parting the tumult. He flew to Anders, and took the mage’s hands, grinning into Anders’ smiling face. The mage pulled his hands free, cupped the elf’s face, then slid his hands down to the lyrium lines on Fenris’ arms. Anders’ hands lit with blue healing energy, and Fenris felt it pouring along the markings. They sizzled, and itched, and finally, burned. It was painful, but he gritted his teeth to bear it out, knowing Anders wouldn’t hurt him unnecessarily. 

He was right. In a moment, the burn receded, and a delightful tingle began in its place. The lines flared brightly, easily shining through the material of his clothing, along his arms and neck. Anders entire body flashed blue in response to Fenris’ lyrium, and they bathed the room in the light from their respective powers.

The storm had receded. The blue-white of the pair’s energy slowly died back, and they fell into embrace. Fenris burrowed into the mage, his lyrium humming pleasantly, in a way it never had. He could feel the buzz of magic under Anders’ skin, and pressed his mouth against his throat. Yes, he could taste it, just barely there, under the taste of his skin. Soft, clean; like the purity of flame, like the air after a storm, like the relief of pain. 

He felt Anders mouthing along the lines running down the side of his neck. “Oh... tasting you is like getting a lyrium-high,” he moaned. Fenris laughed.

“They don’t hurt, like they did, before.”

“No... they had a lot of ugly magic in them, Fenris. I cleaned them. They’re yours, now.”

“Justice?”

Anders shook his head. His expression briefly fell to melancholy. Then, he was stroking his hands into the elf's hair, gazing at him with wonder.

Fenris pulled the mage into a heady kiss, feeling lighter and more whole than he had in... ever.

The others in the room were approaching, laughing, talking, clapping them both on the back. Anders shied from it, moving behind Fenris, still smiling. 

Mervus was talking to Anders, now. “Your magic is a bit out of shape, as it were. You’ll need to practice with it, get back in control. It shouldn’t be hard... given what you did with those markings, already.” 

Fenris spoke. “We can never thank you enough.”

Mervus was humble in his response. He asked if he might correspond with Anders about his experiences with Justice, both before and after he’d joined with the Spirit. He was thinking of publishing a study of non-demonic Fade spirit possessions. Anders shrugged. He was happy with the prospect. He felt it appropriate that Justice somehow be remembered. 

Dorian invited Mervus to stay for lunch, but he had an appointment to keep, and was on his way.

Dorian beamed at Anders. “Maker’s breath. I can’t recall the last time I was brought to such an emotional state. Watching a man be reunited with his magic after so long... it was more moving than any trite love story.”

“I seem to recall an emotional state after you bade farewell to Bull, Dorian.” Eve was inspecting Fenris’ skin around the markings. It had always had just a bare touch of discoloration to it, but that was gone, now. When she stroked fingers along the lines, they didn’t hurt. Fenris was truly overjoyed.

“You saw no such thing. The lug simply cracked a rib with his enthusiastic embrace.”

“Mm-hm.”

Lunch was joyful. Dorian was outlining practice ideas with Anders, the mage quietly nodding and answering. Fenris was famished, and eating into Anders’ share of the plate. He watched as Anders casually lit a flame in the palm of his hand, then flicked it with his fingers, sending tiny sparks of light to float near the ceiling. The mage’s attention remained on Dorian.

Fenris turned to Eve. “What’s with the lights?”

She smirked. “It’s one of the first spells magelings are taught. It’s a way to drain excess magical energy, without setting anything on fire, or sending lightning through brass furnishings.” She shook her head with a chuckle. “I nearly fried my mother’s lap dog, that way. He still has some erratic energy around the edges. He’s taking care of it.”

He nodded. The lights were pretty. Prettier because Anders made them. He posed Eve another question.

“What was that about Dorian and Bull? I assume you meant The Iron Bull you’ve mentioned?” The idea of a Tevinter and a Qunari Ben-hassrath was startling.

Eve laughed. “Dorian hasn’t ever brought it up? Dorian, are you ashamed of your qunari lover?”

Dorian scowled elegantly. “I have no shame, as you well know. What I do have is discretion. Just because Bull was happy to share our private life all over Skyhold, doesn’t mean I am.”

“You... and a qunari?” Anders asked. “Wouldn’t that be...?”

“Unwise? Unlikely? Unbelievable?” Dorian supplied.

“Uncomfortable?” Anders finished.

Dorian laughed. “Well, it all depends on one’s motivation, I suppose. Proper preparation is key. The Qunari motto is, after all, ‘Be Prepared’.”

Eve laughed. “I got the impression Bull was always prepared. For anyone.”

“Well, I can’t fault him for prudishness, at least. Cullen, on the other hand....”

“Why do you go there, every time? Cullen was not a prude. He was a gentleman.”

“He blushed like a Chantry sister.”

“I thought you found that charming.”

“I did. Then, you found him overly solicitous. In solidarity, I found him priggish.”

“Dorian, you’re a true friend.”

“Knight Captain Cullen??” Anders and Fenris exclaimed in sync.

Eve was confused. “Uh... yes. Why... oh, Maker’s mercy. Did you know him in Kirkwall?”

“Slightly. We had a few interactions,” Fenris replied.

“I knew him in Kinloch Hold, for a bit, too,” Anders offered. “I can’t believe you were in a relationship with a templar. Cullen hated mages.” 

“He doesn’t hate mages,” Eve insisted.

“He said, ‘Mages cannot be treated like people’. Right in front of me.”

Fenris reminded him, “You were standing right in front of him, and he didn’t arrest you. He couldn’t have hated mages that much.”

“He went through a lot of changes after Meredith lost her mind.”

Anders turned to Fenris. “I told you she was howling at the bloody moon.”

Eve told the story she had heard from both Cullen and Varric. About Orsino and Meredith finally coming to a head, and the call for an Annulment. About Hawke standing with Meredith against the mages, until her madness turned against him.

“Of course he stood against the mages,” Anders sighed. “I really hate him.”

Eve had been surprised all through the meal by Anders’ volubility. Getting his magic back seemed to have boosted his confidence. Regardless, the gentle mage making a statement of hatred was unexpected. “He’s dead, you know.”

Both Fenris and Anders’ heads shot up. “Dead?”

She nodded. “When we were escaping the Nightmare Demon in the Fade. I had to leave someone behind, to cover our escape. It was Hawke.”

Both men stared at her for a moment. Then, they turned and stared at each other. They moved into each other’s arms, finally. Both were shaking, breath coming unevenly.

Fenris wasn’t sure what he was feeling. Once given back to Danarius, the elf would have happily killed Hawke, if he’d had the chance. Yet, Hawke, until he’d inexplicably turned him over to the magister, had been his friend. His first friend. He’d taught him to read, helped him fight the slavers and Hadriana, treated him with respect. Learning that he was dead... was not the joyful moment he’d anticipated. 

Anders was pulling away. He looked desolate and confused. “He was once a good friend,” the mage said. Fenris nodded.

Eve spoke, quietly. “Varric told me that Hawke started to become erratic after his mother was murdered. You know Varric, he’ll overlook most people’s failings. But, Hawke just got worse, especially after he let Danarius take you. When he came to Skyhold, there was a strain between he and Varric. Hawke wasn’t quite right, that much was clear. But, I didn’t leave him in the Fade because of that.”

Anders pressed. “Why did Varric let us go? Why didn’t he help us? Why didn’t any of them? In all of the stories that he tells, did he reveal that little bit of intrigue?”

“I’m sorry, Anders, he didn’t. He didn’t talk about it much, to tell the truth. It seemed to hurt him.”

Anders’ face was filled with disbelief. “Hurt him? I could tell him a few stories about pain....”

Fenris pulled the mage to him. “Anders, don’t take it out on Eve.” Anders was hiding his face in Fenris’ shoulder. The elf looked at Dorian and Eve. “Maybe....”

Dorian stood. “Say no more. We’ll all talk, later.” They left Anders and Fenris alone in their room.

He rocked the mage in his arms. “It’s alright, Anders....”

Anders’ muffled voice spoke. “No. No. No. No. No! No! It isn’t alright! It was never alright, and it won’t ever be alright!” He pulled out of Fenris’ embrace and paced the floor. 

“None of what happened to us was alright!” His voice was raised, angry. “How can you say it’s alright? Those people were our friends. They were supposed to be our comrades. They watched Hawke hand us over to that sick fuck, and didn’t bother to lift a hand. Danarius contained Justice and I, both, the minute Hawke offered us up. I was dragged kicking through the door; and they all stood there and watched us go! It isn’t alright!” Small wisps of flame flickered into existence around him as he railed. Tiny sparks flung from his fingers as he gestured.

“And, now I hear the man who did it is dead, and what do I feel? I feel badly because he was a friend once! Could I be anymore pathetic?? His friendship didn’t amount to nugshit when a nightmare in the shape of a magister came knocking, did it?

“Why do I grieve that he’s dead, when we both suffered for six fucking years because of what he did? I can’t get any more pathetic.” His anger was blowing out, leaving him drained. The little bits of accidental magic faded.

Fenris spoke softly. “You’re not pathetic. You care. It’s what you do. It’s who you are. I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

Anders collapsed on the couch. He sat limply, then covered his face with his hands, and rubbed his eyes. Finally, he drew a shuddering breath. “Hawke was sick. Leandra’s death was more than he could cope with. The way she died changed him. He’d lost everyone in his family. He finally lost himself.”

“Is that what you believe happened?”

“It's what I’m going to believe. Because, I need to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not anti-Justice. He just had to go, in this fic.
> 
> Oh, I was so awaiting Anders getting his magic back!
> 
> I have no idea if the Qunari have a motto, or if the Boy Scouts would allow a Qunari into their troops. I just take artistic license to extreme.
> 
> To be continued....


	10. Thinking Ahead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris and Anders weigh their future options.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's kind of short, but kind of important.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you, everyone, for the wonderful, insightful, encouraging comments! They really make the writing process a whole new thing. I love hearing questions and ideas, as well. I can't always answer them, nor always implement them, but I love them!

Fenris watched Anders and Dorian work together. Their training sessions took place in a large, empty room. Here, spells could be fired at a distance and dummies demolished, with collateral damage at a minimum. Anders was already an accomplished mage, Fenris knew that. He’d fought with him in countless battles, been healed by him numerous times. It was interesting to observe Dorian's surprise at Anders’ abilities and skills. Fenris could see that he was a bit scattered. His spells lacked the precision and speed they’d once had, but he was quickly getting it back. 

While Dorian worked with Anders primarily on battle magic, Eve worked with him on healing. They had similar training, both coming from Circles outside of Tevinter. Each had learned much outside the Circle, and delighted in sharing those skills. Watching Anders bending over a cot in the infirmary, healing a servant’s grease burn, Fenris was taken back to Darktown for an instant. He felt it like a balm on his soul... Anders was a healer, again. 

Eve had watched several of Dorian’s training sessions alongside Fenris. She told him Dorian was surprised by Anders because he was a Southern mage, trained in a Southern Circle. Most Circle mages that he’d met, including herself, had little battle skill. Fenris believed it. Most of Anders’ battle skills were learned as an apostate, and a Grey Warden. Circles didn’t want their mages able to fight. 

Dorian was incredibly patient with Anders. The Tevinter was bombastic, but also was truly kind, when he thought no one would notice. Anders’ confidence had grown with the resurgence of his magic; but, he was still easily distressed. Dorian respected his space, spoke calmly, was smooth in his encouragement. He probably didn’t need to be as solicitous of Anders as he was. Dorian and Eve were familiar, by now, and Anders trusted them. Fenris suspected Dorian simply liked Anders, and felt protective of him. There was a certain sweetness in the Tevinter’s expression when he spoke to the mage.

Fenris was handling a greatsword as he watched their session. He hadn’t held one in many years, yet the feel of it in his hands was immediately familiar. He was letting himself grow slowly accustomed to its presence on his back, in his hands. He was beginning to think of their future. Anders had his skill back, so Fenris decided it was time to resume his. He worked with his lyrium frequently. He could do it anywhere, it didn’t require special training to reacquaint with it. There was no one to teach him, regardless. He was one-of-a-kind, and the creator of the lines was dead. As Anders had said, the markings belonged to Fenris, now.

As their life took on more facets, their room seemed to be shrinking. Any sword work or battle spell casting had to be moved to the training room for lack of space. Shelves had been moved in to hold the books they’d acquired. A desk was wedged in the corner for Fenris to practice his writing lessons. The moment the elf had expressed a desire to better his hand, Anders had begun teaching him. Eve made sure they were supplied with paper and quills, even basic practice notebooks. She’d offered to have a tutor brought in to work with him, but both Fenris and Anders had declined. The elf wanted to learn as he had everything for the past six-plus years; with Anders. 

Of course, they couldn’t help each other with their respective weapons. But, they attended each other’s practice sessions. They were still unable to separate without severe anxiety setting-in. They were finally able to be out of eyesight if one used the toilet; but the door remained ajar. Anders had expected some sort of laughter or teasing when he mentioned this progress to Eve. There was none. She respected the level of control this anxiety held over them, and was supportive of any improvement they had. He was grateful, but even Fenris had snorted at themselves; two grown men, finally able to shit on their own. 

With the mages’ practice over, the room smelled of ozone and lyrium. In time, Fenris wanted Anders to learn to draw power from the lyrium on his body. It had been painful, when Danarius did it. He felt sure that was due to the manner in which it had been done. Anders wasn’t comfortable with trying it, yet, although he thought it was likely he could. Since cleaning and reactivating the lyrium lines, Anders could taste and feel them, ten-times more strongly than before. 

Due to that, Anders was like a child with an elf-shaped lolly. He’d always been at Fenris’ skin, tasting and scenting the elf in passion or anxiety. Now... although it wasn’t the same as taking lyrium potion, it sent him into some sort of bliss. Anders told him the feel of the lines against his lips and tongue was reminiscent of the surge of lyrium when consumed. The mage tried to avoid putting his mouth on the markings unless they were alone. With the combination of Fenris’ scent and taste, with the lyrium, Anders’ reaction was often... ardent.

Eve came to meet them as the mages were finishing their work. “If you fellows are done here, I need Anders and Fenris." She led them to the family wing, where she and Dorian had their suites. Opening the door to a vacant set of rooms, she ushered them in.

“I know you’ve preferred your room, but I’d really like you to consider moving into this suite.” The men exchanged glances. “No, don’t go talking with your eyes, think about it.” She swung her arms out. “You’re outgrowing your space. Look, this suite has only three rooms, and only one door between them, to the bathroom. The bedchamber has no door, and the living space is considerably larger. You can actually move without bumping each other.”

“We like bumping each other,” Fenris dead-panned. Anders snorted.

Eve rolled her eyes. “Be that as it may, you’ve both got non-passion-related bruises up and down your shins. Honestly, Anders, you’re a Healer, take care of those.”

“Are you sure they’re not passion-related?” Anders asked, using his Healer’s-tone. Fenris snorted.

“Maker, you’re worse than Bull and Dorian. Fine. You’re both acquiring possessions, you’ll be getting wardrobes soon, there’s barely any room for Dorian and I to visit, and I want a better view when we play cards.” 

Fenris looked at her standing before them, hands on hips, eyes intent. “This must be the Inquisitor-look Dorian mentioned,” he said.

“No wonder Corypheus dropped dead,” Anders replied.

Eve tried to keep a straight face, but burst into laughter. “So... will you move?”

“Yes, Eve. We were going to bring it up, anyway. We are at your convenience.”

The wardrobe acquisition was a nuisance for both of them. Both were used to fairly simple clothes. Anders would grow fond of a set of robes, and wear them until they fell off. Fenris had lived his remembered life in grafted spirit hide armor, with leggings and tunic. He had no more of that armor, new would need to be made. Anders wasn’t as flashy as Tevinter fashion seemed to be. But, they agreed, they’d spent enough time barefoot in cotton servant’s livery.

Eve helped them fight off Dorian. He was determined that Anders would wear only the latest in mage-wear. Finally, Anders went through Dorian’s wardrobe, and chose those robes he liked best. A tailor visited the estate, and Eve helped Anders describe what alterations he’d like on the designs, and then he was measured for fit. It was very uncomfortable for Anders, having a stranger’s hands move across him with the measuring-tape. Fenris stayed beside him, pulling the tailor’s hands a few inches from the mage’s body, when necessary. The tailor, endlessly accustomed to the eccentricities of the wealthy, took it in stride.

Dorian located the armorer who’d created Fenris’ armor for Danarius, so many years ago. The man came to the house to take measurements of Fenris. He also sat and discussed the armor with the elf, at length. It was a unique piece of work, and he was intrigued with its performance. Between the armorer and Fenris, they made revisions to the design. Both Anders’ robes and Fenris’ armor would be delivered in a few weeks.

Dinner that evening was in their new suite. So was the game of Wicked Grace that followed. Dorian was explaining the convoluted social puzzle of the Tevinter elite. He started with his own family.

“This house we’re in is actually but one of many the Pavus family holds throughout Thedas. There’s a half-dozen in Tevinter, alone. Father wasn’t thrilled with the idea of my presence under his roof in Qarinus, nor was I. This was his... amends, if you will. Along with his support in my ambassadorship.”

“If he’s the head of the Pavus family, is he the one who actually owns us?” Anders asked.

“No. As I’m of age, I’m able to acquire holdings of my own, under the name of Pavus. So, should I die, there are stipulations regarding your handling. Your ownership will be transferred to Josephine Montilyet at Skyhold, who will have you delivered anyplace you wish to go, and then freed. I trust her savvy, and ethics, implicitly.”

Fenris nodded, saw Anders mulling it over. “Can we become citizens of Tevinter?” the mage asked.

Dorian’s expression was serious. “Anders, I need you to understand what that would entail. As a mage, you’d have a fairly easy time being granted citizenship. The Imperium is fond of Southerners coming to its land. A big thumbing of the nose to the South. However, as a foreigner, with no money, no family, and few connections, you would be at great risk. As you well know, mages are enslaved here, frequently. You are a powerful mage, to be sure, but you lack what is needed to survive without clout. That would be the willingness to do whatever it takes for power--including blood magic.” He paused. “As for Fenris....” He glanced at the elf.

“I would never be granted citizenship,” he said.

“Why not?” 

“I’m not a mage, for one, which means I have less to offer than you. I’m ‘The Lyrium Ghost’. Which makes me too valuable as a slave. Even were I free, the first Magister with the power and the means would have me taken captive”

Anders nodded, disappointed.

Dorian continued. “However... There are a couple of options for you, Anders. You could become an apprentice, to myself, or someone I trust. It would gain you financial and power backing to remain free. Normally, it’s for a designated period of time, which is a bit of a nuisance in this case. There’s also the possibility of adoption.”

Anders snorted. “Aren’t I a little old to be adopted?”

“Oh, no. Great Families adopt new members with some regularity. Certainly not for altruistic reasons. It’s rather like marriage, here. All about the breeding and the alliances. You could be adopted into the Pavus Family, Anders.”

“Fenris, too?”

“No, I’m afraid not. Discrimination runs high, here. Any adoption must be put forth by the Head of Family, which is my father. Halward is willing to allow your adoption... but, not Fenris.”

Anders’ eyes squinted. It was a new expression that Fenris was beginning to know. The mage was starting to have a number of forgotten emotions return to his repertoire. Humor, was one. Anger, another. The squinting eyes were a tell-tale sign of the latter. He also knew Anders wouldn’t express it, in this case. Dorian was their host, and he was referring to his father. 

“Then I don’t want to be freed. I’ll stay a slave, with Fenris.”

Fenris sighed. “Anders, you’re being foolish. I cannot be anything other than a slave, here. But, there is no reason you can’t be free. If Dorian’s willing to have you adopted into his family, then let him.”

“No.”

“Yes,” Fenris insisted. “Why are you being so stubborn?”

“We are equals, and we will stay equals. I won’t have privileges you don’t. I won’t have people looking up to me and down on you. I want to share our lives as equal partners, however high or low that may be.”

Dorian grimaced. “Well, that’s a little difficult in Tevinter, gentlemen. Two men cannot have a domestic partnership and survive.”

Anders was nonplussed. “Why?”

“It simply isn’t done. Discrete meetings, furtive tumbles... that’s all Tevinter offers.”

“Then, we’ll leave the Imperium. I won’t live free while you’re still a slave. And, I don’t want to hide what we share.”

“Anders, so help me....” Fenris grumbled. “I’m not letting you go back to being an apostate. You’re turning down a chance to have what you always sought. You could have a life, a real, free, mage-in-the-streets life.”

“And spend our life pretending we’re something we're not? You, someone else’s slave?”

Dorian spoke up. “This can really be quite easy, Anders. The Pavus Family adopts you, which makes you a citizen of the Imperium. It also gives you all the power, money and status that a Great Family provides. You assume ownership of Fenris. No one will attempt to steal the property from a Great Family. You’re protected, he’s protected. And, on a social level, it’s expected that you and Fenris live together. It’s even accepted that you sleep together.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows, impressed with the idea. He’d much prefer having Anders as his legal owner than anyone else.

“No! I will not own Fenris!”

Fenris shook his head. “I owned you, you didn’t mind.”

“That was different. We were both slaves, and you didn’t really own me. I can’t own you, Fenris... don’t you understand?”

“I do. I also know that the only way I can live in relative security in Tevinter, is if I am owned by someone strong enough to keep that ownership. I’d rather that someone be you.” Fenris looked at Anders with open appeal. “Consider it. We could live here, comfortably, together. We could even work with Dorian and Eve, if you like. We could travel outside Tevinter, if you were an Imperial citizen; visit other countries. I don’t care if I’m a ‘paper slave’; I’d be with you. Anders, you’ve fought for your freedom your whole life. Take it, now, when it’s being handed to you on a silver platter.”

“People would think I’m a slave owner. Worse, one who abuses his slave,” Anders said in disgust.

“A slave owner, yes. Most of the Imperium owns slaves,” Dorian interjected. “As for your relationship with Fenris, no one will really care. The mutual affection can show. It would also serve a purpose. It makes clear that you have a personal interest in him; that any abuse by others would be strongly retaliated. It’s not uncommon for feelings to evolve between a slave and his owner.”

“Because the slave has no choice... their life depends on returning those feelings.”

Fenris looked at Anders in confusion. “Do you honestly believe I will fall into a slave mindset with you?”

Anders sighed. “No. I don’t. It’s just... Why is it every time freedom is mine to take, it comes with such a price?”

Dorian chuckled gently. “Oh, Anders. Freedom always comes with a price. The cost you’re being asked is really quite minimal. Live with the man you love, and give him protection with a document of ownership. That’s not so bad, is it?”

Anders looked from Dorian to Fenris. The elf still had open appeal in his eyes. Anders sighed. “If you ever call me ‘Master’, we’re moving to Ferelden.”

Dorian clapped his hands. “Excellent! I’ll start the process, immediately.”


	11. Destiny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian guides Anders and Fenris toward their destiny.
> 
> Eve leaves for a meeting in Orlais.

Eve was packing to leave. There was to be an Exalted Council in Orlais, to determine the future of the Inquisition. Although she’d retired from the office, a missive from Josephine had entreated her to attend the meeting.

Dorian should be going, but as Eve was attending, the two decided she would represent him. Dorian was sure she’d have better reception on his behalf than an actual Tevinter devil. In truth, neither wanted to leave Anders and Fenris alone for such a long period. Both men felt badly about it on one hand, and extremely grateful on the other. The idea of being left alone made them uncomfortable... actually, very anxious. Even so, one aspect concerned Anders.

“Dorian, Eve said The Iron Bull is going to be there. Why would you be willing to miss seeing him?”

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “Did she, the little minx? As it happens, it’s true, he’ll be attending. However, I’ve hired the Chargers to escort her on her return. He’ll come to me. The food and wine will be better, the bed more comfortable, and the time longer. Don’t worry on my account, dear Anders. My love-life is well-managed, if sporadic.”

Anders also pestered Eve about Cullen. “You’ve never said anything negative about him. Why are you no longer together?”

“We’re not really ‘no longer together’, Anders. I just took a couple years out of the country. I needed time away.”

“From the man you love?” He knew that he and Fenris were uncommonly connected, but the thought of deliberately separating from one’s lover... it stymied him.

She sighed. “You are determined, aren’t you? Cullen is a loving, faithful, considerate man. Too considerate. He began to worry that everything he said was potentially an insult toward mages. It was impossible to have a conversation. Then, too, he was so invested in the Inquisition. And, I just couldn’t stay in the midst of it all at Skyhold, any longer.”

“Did you tell him all of that?”

“Not really. How do you tell someone they’re too considerate? Or, that their dream just doesn’t appeal to you?”

“Like you just told me. It’s not fair to either of you to be apart, if your love is true. Talk to him, Eve. Don’t waste anymore time.”

She looked at his earnest face, and smiled. “I’ll try. And, talking about talking... Varric’s going to be at the Council. Do you have any messages you’d like to send?”

“Why is he going to the Council?”

“He’s the Viscount of Kirkwall.”

Fenris burst into long, loud laughter. “Oh, that is just perfect!”

Anders was squinting. “No. I don’t have any messages. Maybe the laughing elf does.”

Fenris saw the squint, and pulled the mage into his lap. He lightly rubbed his hand along Anders’ back. “Does he know we are here?”

Eve shook her head. “I haven’t informed anyone that you’ve been found, let alone your location. I thought you should have that option.”

Fenris studied Anders’ face. “No... I don’t have a message. Eve, tell him whatever you like. I don’t care what people know.” He pulled Anders’ frowning face down and into the crook of his shoulder. “Let it go, for now, my mage.” Anders inhaled the elf. The hand on his back, and the scent of his skin, slowly bringing him calm. 

Eve watched their interaction, the love so obviously shared between them. “I really do miss Cullen,” she said softly.

Fenris quirked his lips. “Anders gave good advice.”

She shook herself of her reverie. “I don’t leave for a few days. There’s something I want to talk to you both about. But, only when Anders is in a better mood.”

His voice spoke, muffled against Fenris’ neck. “I’m in a better mood.”

“Alright. I would like you to consider making a couple changes.”

Now Anders raised his head. “To what?”

“You still look like a Matched Set.”

They turned and studied each other. Needlessly, as both knew the other better than themselves. Fenris picked-up on her meaning, immediately. “You have a point.”

“So?” Anders wasn’t following.

Dorian had appeared in the doorway. “You need to look your station,” he directed at Anders. “For both of you.” He pointed a manicured finger at Anders. “Your position in society will determine his regard. He’ll not be given respect, as a slave, but he will be seen as an extension of you. If you’re well thought of, Fenris will receive better treatment.”

“You’re saying my haircut will affect our lives that much?” Anders asked incredulously.

Dorian chuckled. “It’s not quite so shallow, but looks make the man, in noble society. You will be held to a certain standard.”

Anders put his head back in Fenris’ neck. “Maker, what am I getting into?”

“Freedom as a noble in Tevinter, where mages practice magic in the street, and their elf shares their bed and their love in safety,” Fenris reminded him. “Your appearance was changed to model mine. You won't be a slave, anymore. You shouldn't look like one. Cut your hair, remove the tattoos. Shake off the last vestiges of your life under that bastard.”

Anders spoke from his hiding place, again. “Then, I wouldn’t look like you.”

“It’s up to you, of course. It’s your head and hide. But, I don’t want you to look like me, anymore. I don’t want you to be his legacy, any more than I wanted it.” The elf was rubbing Anders’ back, again, one hand in the mop of gold on his head. “Whether or not you look like me, we’re still part of each other. Nothing in this world can change that.”

Anders raised his head to gaze into the elf’s eyes. He sighed. “You’re right, as usual. All of you are right. The hair, the markings.” He held out his arms, covered in reddish lines and swirls. “I don’t want to see them, anymore.”

“You’re going to be even more beautiful, my Anders,” Fenris pulled him in for a brief, sweet kiss.

“Kaffas... the two of you.” Dorian watched the pair with a bemused look.

Anders looked up. “The two of us, what?”

Dorian shook his head. “Most people only dream of what you have. It’s just terribly romantic.” His own voice had a slight longing in it.

“Dorian, you should go to the Council,” Anders urged.

“Perish the thought! I detest such events. Bull will be here, in good time.”

The afternoon found Anders in a chair, covered in a drape. Fenris, hovering over the mage protectively, watched with interest as the hairstylist circled him, judging his features and hair texture. “I have no idea what I want,” Anders said to Dorian. “I’ve never done much with my hair.”

Dorian replied. “It’s up to you, of course. But, it’s much warmer here than in the South. Tevinter men tend to wear their hair short. Often partially shaved.”

Anders looked at Fenris, who maintained a neutral expression. He looked back at Dorian. “You look good... but, your hair is a bit complicated for me.”

Dorian laughed. “I quite agree. Something more natural, less fuss.” He muttered with the stylist a moment, and they both nodded. Anders closed his eyes as locks of hair began falling past his face.

When the snipping was done, he opened his eyes to a mirror held before him. He grabbed it, and stared. “Andraste’s knickerweasles, I look like King Alistair!”

“You’ve met the King of Ferelden?” Dorian asked. 

“Once, in Amaranthine.” He was still staring. He’d never had his hair so short. Yet, he liked it. He raised his eyes to Fenris, who was looking at him with a feral grin. Apparently, the elf liked it, too. He smiled back, pleased with his reaction.

“I saw him up close, once,” Dorian offered. “You’ll forgive my contentiousness if I say, you look even better.”

The stylist was shown to the House accounts keeper, and a servant came to sweep up the golden locks in the floor. Another man was ushered in. 

“I understand you have extensive tattoos you would like removed,” the man said gently.

The man was a mage. One who specialized in aesthetics. Anders found such a specialty interesting. Dorian explained that in land with so many mages practicing freely, many more uses for magic were explored than in the South. Not every mage was a highborn. Not everyone was interested in, or competent at, battle or healing. 

The procedure was lengthy, as much as getting them inscribed on his body. Happily for Anders, it was also painless. The removal was accomplished via a sustained spell. The mage ran his fingers carefully along the lines of ink, reciting an incantation. The markings vanished behind his touch.

Anders was provided much more consideration in the removal than in the application. Only those parts of his body being worked on were exposed at any time. The constant touch of the aesthetician, however gentle and professional, was difficult to bear. Fenris touched him constantly; petting, rubbing, holding. Several times, Anders asked for a break. Dorian and the mage left the room, as Fenris took him in his arms to soothe him. 

Hours later, Dorian showed the aesthetician out, and Anders looked down at his arms to see unblemished skin. He stripped off his servant’s livery and ran to the mirror. It was as though he’d never had them. He twisted and turned, looking at every part of himself. Even his genitals... no remaining ink. Fenris appeared behind him, hands gliding down his shoulders and back, lighting on his hips.

“Glad?” he asked, chin resting on Anders’ shoulder.

He smiled. “I am.”

The elf nodded, burying his mouth in the mage’s shoulder. “You look like you.”

“I feel like me.” He looked at Fenris. “He’s gone.”

Fenris nodded. “He is. He’s out of our life. Soon, we’ll make our own life.”

Eve had left to assist the Inquisition. She sent regular messages to Dorian. They all missed her. She included a letter for Dorian from Bull, which put the Tevinter in a heightened state of anticipation.

Dorian was gone from the House many days of the week. He traveled to gatherings and political meetings. He met with ambassadors and Family Heads. He spent a great deal of time corresponding with the Magisterium, and his own father. He didn’t see eye-to-eye with Halward, but they both tried to maintain a civil relationship, particularly in regard to politics. As an only child, Dorian was likely to inherit his father’s seat in the Magisterium. He wasn’t certain that his father would grant that, however.

Listening to Dorian discuss this, Anders realized he knew little about the position he was taking in the Pavus Family.

“So, am I going to be your brother, then?”

Dorian laughed. “Oh, I would have so enjoyed growing up with you as my brother! The mischief we’d have gotten into. No. Sibling designations are confined to blood. You will be an Inheritor. It would be proper to simply refer to yourself as ‘Anders of House Pavus’. You could also say ‘Anders Pavus’, though that may lead to some confusion among Tevinters. Using the surname implies blood relation.”

“Will I be a lord, or ser, or something?”

“Lord Pavus refers to my father or I. You will certainly merit ‘my lord’. ‘Messere’ or ‘serrah’ are acceptable.”

“I don’t want Fenris to call me ‘master’, even for appearances.”

“He can call you whatever the two of you like. Many slaves work in offices or shops, and refer to their owners as ‘messere’, or even their given names. It depends on the master in question. I understand that you’ve experienced the worst kind of master out there. But, most aren’t like Danarius. You can play the role of any sort of master with which you’re comfortable. Those still in slavery in my House typically call me ‘messere’, as do the free staff. None bow nor kneel."

Fenris looked up from oiling his sword. “I’ll call you ‘Lover-Mage’.

Anders grinned. “I’ll call you ‘Sweetheart’.

Dorian kept talking. "You'll also receive an allowance. I've set-up an account for you, and funds will be placed in it on an annual basis. Inheritors don't receive the same sort of numbers as children do, but you'll be well-provided for."

Anders' mouth was ajar. "You're kidding me. Your family's never even met me, and they're going to give me a living?"

"Of course. There are appearances to keep." He took in Anders' shocked face, and chuckled. "I don't think you fully appreciate the level of wealth you're being adopted into, Anders. You'll barely be a drop out of the coffers. Of course, you're both welcome to remain in my estate. No, let me rephrase that. Please, stay. Between you and Eve, I've not had such an accord since Felix."

Dorian continued working with Anders to refine his magic. He also taught him some interesting spells that no Circle in the south would teach. Anders was delighted with the freedom of magic here. Dorian cautioned him. Such freedom often resulted in terrible acts by feuding mages and power-hungry magisters. Fenris nodded. Anders had seen little outside of Danarius’ and Dorian’s estates. He didn’t really know the lay of the culture.

The day Dorian walked into the house, grinning, and handed Anders the writ acknowledging him as a member of the family of House Pavus, Anders felt the world shift around him. He was free. He was a free mage. He was a member of a powerful family of Tevinter. He was expected to use magic, to walk openly as a mage. He had support, backing, security... he was going to hyperventilate.

Dorian and Fenris sat him down, brought him water, coached his breathing. When he could draw a calm breath, he looked at Fenris in awe. “I’m free. I’m a citizen of the Imperium... Fenris....” Fenris pulled him into an embrace, smiling over his shoulder at Dorian. He felt the newest member of the Imperium’s populace open his mouth against his neck, trembling with both joy and anxiety. A free mage was the last thing Anders had ever thought he could be.

Suddenly, Anders jumped up, and pulled Dorian into a tight embrace. Dorian’s shock was clear as he met Fenris’ gaze. Anders hadn’t touched anyone other than Fenris of his own volition. After a moment, Dorian’s arms returned the hug, his eyes blinking rapidly. “Festis bei umo canavarum, Anders. How many times will you bring me to tears with your happiness?”

Still holding him, Anders’ voice replied, “Hopefully, many times. I don’t care what cultural mandates say, Dorian... you are my brother.”

The blinking didn’t help, then. Tears flowed. 

Anders released his hold, and Dorian produced a handkerchief, quickly blotting his eyes. “Fasta vass... I’m a spectacle.” He turned to his desk, and pulled an envelope from a drawer. “There’s a bit of paperwork, yet.”

He laid the contents of the envelope on the desk. “If you’re both still agreeable, we can change Fenris’ ownership, effective immediately.”

Fenris was bouncing on his toes. He had no part in this transaction, yet he felt like he was about to participate in a momentous event. Anders looked at him questioningly.

“Yes. Yes, do it.”

It was shamefully easy to assign the life of one man into the hands of another; two signatures and the receipt of sale. Anders hesitated after signing his name, then extended the quill toward Fenris.

“I want you to sign, as well.” Fenris’ eyes widened. 

“Slaves don’t sign their ownership papers.”

“I want you to be part of this. There’s no place designated for it, but you can sign under my name.”

Fenris stared at him for a few beats, then smiled. He took the quill, and very carefully, signed his name. Dorian picked up the papers, and held them out. Anders gestured with his head. He wanted Fenris to have them. The elf took the proffered receipt, and held it reverently.

He was delighted. Ecstatic. He felt a security he’d never known. He was thrilled beyond any comprehension. He could have frolicked. Instead, he pulled Anders to him, and kissed him thoroughly. 

Fenris looked at the man who had just remolded their world. “Dorian, we cannot thank you enough, in a hundred lifetimes, for what you’ve done for us. The first time we heard your name, we'd been preparing our goodbye’s to be sent to our death. We could never have known you were going to give us our own life.”

Dorian looked at him, jaw tight. Suddenly he turned away, handkerchief at his eyes again. “Kaffas! You two are destroying my reputation.”

There was much rejoicing. Although a Great Family adoption was normally celebrated with a large party and much ceremony, the three men had a private function. Wine was opened, Dorian presented Anders with an Altus Amulet. He finally put his foot down on them expressing their gratitude. His eyes were red and sinuses clogged, he would have no more thanks expressed. He explained that they owed him nothing. That they had come to mean more to him than any family designation could convey... and, then he made his own self shed tears.

“Vishante kaffas! No more! You know how I feel, I know how you feel, let’s empty some bottles.”

Then, the three men proceeded to get royally plastered. Dorian and Fenris had high constitutions for alcohol. Anders hadn’t had a drink in over ten years. While Dorian and Fenris were still commenting on the qualities of the very good wine, Anders was well into his buzz. 

Dorian and Fenris watched Anders as he slowly floated into his cups. He started to talk. He told outrageous stories. Time in the Circle, time on the run from the Circle. Time as a Warden, time on the run from the Wardens. Fenris was overwhelmingly happy, watching his mage. Anders was beautiful, free, laughing. The mage’s stories were unbelievable, the characters in them unlikely. Yet, Fenris knew they were true. He could spot a lie in Anders at a hundred paces, if they ever got that far apart.

Fenris was laughing with him, watching as Dorian became enchanted by Anders, as well. Dorian and Fenris began to feel their drink, and laughter rang out between all three. Dorian matched Anders’ tales with stories of his own from the Inquisition. Dorian even told of his romance with Bull, leaving the two in fits of laughter.

Fenris wasn’t a story teller; most of his tales were bleak. But, he was a consummate listener. He listened and laughed until his ribs ached. 

When Anders stood, and tried to demonstrate a version of the Remigold, Dorian was horrified, and stood to correct him. Fenris had never done the dance, but had seen it hundreds of times in his early years with Danarius, accompanying him to parties. He stood, informed them they were both wrong, and corrected them, as well. They moved to Dorian’s bedchamber to watch themselves in the mirror. All three of them hung on one another for balance, and corrected each other’s mistakes as none of them got it right. 

Finally, collapsing in a tangled heap of laughter, they landed on the bed. As they panted from their laughter and exertion, Anders made a declaration.

“I am so wasted.”

Dorian replied, “Excellent. You can’t start life as a Tevinter noble without an alcohol addiction.”

Fenris shoved at Anders’ shoulder. “If you’re gonna throw up, turn that way.”

“The things you say. There will be no tossing of cookies in my bedchamber. Hold your liquor like men.”

Soon, silence fell in the room as all three succumbed to the lull of darkness and drunkenness. 

Fenris awoke to a throbbing head the next morning. His mouth tasted like a dirty carpet soaked in wine. He slowly opened his eyes. The back of Anders’ head was in front of him. Fenris was sweating. He’d fallen asleep in his clothes. He pulled his shirt off, then noticed. The bed wasn’t theirs, the room wasn’t even theirs. He poked Anders.

“Wake up, Mage.” He poked him, again. “Wake up.”

“What?”

“I’m sick. Fix it.”

“Leave me alone. My head is pounding.”

“Fix it.”

Anders groaned, but rolled over. His body lit with blue light, and and he sighed deeply. “Maker, that’s better.” He turned to Fenris, and did the same to him.

“I’m so glad you got your magic back,” the elf groaned. He looked around. “This is Dorian’s room. Where’s Dorian?”

Anders reached his arm up and plucked a note from the pillows. “Uh... says he’ll be back in the afternoon.” He put down the note and took a long look at Fenris. “You’re half-naked.” He leaned over him and placed an open-mouthed kiss on the lyrium lines of his chest. “Mmmmmmm... Maker, you’re delicious....”

Fenris surrendered to the sensation of Anders sucking and licking along the markings. The lines lit faintly when Anders did this, the sensation in one line connecting to the others. He ran his fingers into the hair of the mage working his way slowly down his body, feeling the short, soft stuff under his hands. He groaned as Anders reached his waistband. The mage’s hand slipped under the material, started pulling it down....

“Vishante kaffas! On my bed? Are you barbarians? Stop, this instant!”

They turned their heads to find Dorian in the doorway, looking aghast. “I should have kicked you both out before I left, you plebians! I mean it, take your hand out of his pants!”

Anders removed his hand, crawled back up and lay beside Fenris. “I’m not plebian, I’m an Altus.”

Fenris nodded. “I’m not plebian, I’m lower than that.” Anders ran a hand into the elf’s hair, kissed his ear.

Dorian pointed a finger at Anders. “You join my family, then you shag your paramour on my bed? That’s... actually, that sounds about right.”

All three chuckled. “Your note said you wouldn’t be back until afternoon,” Anders pointed out.

“It is afternoon, Lay-about. And, that wasn’t an invitation to defile my bed until then.” 

“Where were you?”

“Oh, a meeting about this, and a meeting about that. There was a delivery while you slept. Come see.”

A large pile of boxes awaited them in their suite. Dorian picked one up, then held it out to Anders. He crossed to take it from him, and Dorian handed another to Fenris.

Anders’ box contained robes. They were made of soft material, greens and browns. Close-fitting pants; loose, long sleeves; a single-shouldered drape that came just to mid-thigh in front and back, with a short fringe at the bottom. The drape left his legs visible on the sides, and belted at the waist. Dorian had worn a similar style a few times. Anders began changing into them. 

Fenris was busy getting into and adjusting his armor. He glanced up just in time to see Dorian help Anders adjust the lay of the outfit, and step back. He felt his jaw drop. He knew Anders. Knew him like he knew himself. Had seen every expression his face could make, every position his body could take. But, this... this man....

A powerful, high-born mage stood before him. Hair short, showing the beauty of his face. Robes open at the neck and loose at the sleeve, revealing smooth, golden skin, with no hint of tattoos. The breeches hugged his thighs, the drape revealing their long lines. Fenris’ heart skipped, then pounded.

Anders’ shy smile was directed at him, now. “How do I look?”

“Like I should worship you,” he murmured. Anders ducked his head, grinning. He glanced back up.

“Fenris, that armor is perfect.”

“It’s much like what you always knew me in,” he replied, shaking off his awe. “It’s much lighter, more comfortable in the joints.”

“Gentlemen, you have more. Let’s get dressing!”

Anders had several similar robes. Some in leather for travel, and some in sumptuous cloth for casual wear. Dorian had also had very casual sets of lounge-wear made-up, tunics and loose breaches. He had boots, too, which he had some trouble navigating. It had been years since he’d had footwear.

Fenris had a couple sets of armor, black and charcoal grey. He also had several sets of simple leggings and tunics. He wanted no footwear. 

When they stepped before the mirror at Dorian’s behest, they simply stood and took themselves in. They were no beaten, cowed, matched-set of slaves. They were a handsome pair; mage and warrior. Men to be reckoned with. Men to determine their own destiny.

Anders spoke, finally. “I can’t believe it.”

“Nor can I.”

“I can,” Dorian said quietly. “This is who you were meant to be. You’ve simply forgotten, during your journey through the Void.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to fill-in a lot of gaps in Tevinter culture for this story, and y'all have been wonderfully accepting. I appreciate that!
> 
> Although it's easy to change outward signs of abuse, the marks on the soul are much harder to make disappear (and, they don't, always). They still have a ways to go.
> 
> No steamy scenes for, what, two chapters now? Hm. Need to address that, eventually.
> 
> To Be Continued!


	12. Past and Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders and Fenris discover if too much of a good thing, is too much.
> 
> A small adventure becomes an unexpected trip down memory lane.
> 
> A letter arrives from an old friend.

Anders lay in a puddle of want. Flat on his back, with an eager, talented mouth sucking his shaft, licking his sack, teething his thighs. His hands buried themselves in silky, white hair. 

A gentle, oiled finger slipped inside him, questing. It found his sweet spot, and Anders arched against it, moaning. He thrust against a restraining hand, whining in need. 

He felt his knees lifted, and suddenly his entrance was consumed by a hungry mouth as his cock was stroked wickedly. He begged for release, voice desperate. Both mouth and hand increased their intensity, and he shattered. Pulse after pulse rocked through him as he cried out in completion.

There was shifting, sliding of skin against skin, and he was gathered in strong arms and rolled atop the elf. A hand on his cock continued to stroke him, as his erection was sustained, never flagging. He was guided over Fenris’ rigid shaft, and he sank, moaning as his already heightened senses were stimulated. He could hear the elf’s moans as he thrust into him, and peeled his eyes open. Fenris’ head was thrown back, mouth ajar as he gasped in pleasure. His hands held Anders’ hips, supporting him as he rode the elf. 

Fenris sat up, his nimble fingers sliding between their bellies, as he found Anders’ shaft, engorged fully once again. Anders moaned, his open mouth claimed by Fenris in a deep, commanding kiss. His thrusts were harder now, angling to find his sweet spot... And then he hit it. Anders’ moans became shrill, muffled by the unrelenting kiss. The hand on his cock whipped him into a frenzy. Fenris’ mouth left his, whispering in his ear. “That’s right, mage... I’m taking you there again... let it go... come for me....”

And, he did. Bellowing in his heights, he pulsed between their bodies. He heard Fenris hiss, pulling himself from the mage’s body before he spent himself.

He was dying. He had to be. He’d casually mentioned Grey Warden stamina to Fenris in the bath. That was it. Just mentioned that he’d been able to reach climax twice in row, on a regular basis, until his sex-life had been cut short with his run from the Wardens. Fenris’ eyes had taken on a wicked gleam. Then, the elf said he’d take him further than that.

He’d started right there, in the bath; a soapy, relentless hand taking him quickly to completion. Then, moved them to their bed. Now, Anders had just peaked for his third time, and was somewhere between agony and bliss.

He collapsed against Fenris, lungs heaving, body twitching. The elf held him, rubbing his back, pressing kisses to his neck and shoulders. Fenris found his hand, and twined their fingers together. 

As his breathing slowed, Fenris gently began stroking his shaft, again. Anders shuddered, the stimulation almost too much. Fenris wrapped his arms about Anders, and rolled them over. 

Anders gave a small moan, exhausted. Fenris ignored the frantic want of his own body, slid down to take the mages’ wilting shaft in his mouth. Anders shuddered. “Fenris?” The elf used his considerable skill, and pleasured Anders. “I can’t,” Anders groaned. 

“Can’t... or don’t want to? Say the word, I’ll stop.”

“Can’t. Can’t go four times... no one can go four times....”

“How do you know? Have you ever tried?”

Anders was twitching. Fenris could feel his flesh harden under his ministrations.

“No... never tried... oh, Maker....” he gasped as Fenris again sent jolts of arousal spreading from his cock. 

Anders made small thrusts into Fenris’ mouth, his flesh hard, again. Fenris moved gracefully back up his body, placing small, delicate, repeated kisses to his lips. Anders followed his lead, lips returning the kisses, hands finding Fenris’ hair and holding him in place. When Fenris felt Anders’ tongue delving into his mouth, he pulled the mage’s legs up with his arms, and slid his aching cock inside Anders’ willing body.

Both groaned at the sensation. Fenris held still, panting, so aroused and on edge that he was afraid to move. Anders claimed his lips in a truly dominating kiss. His body was highly strung, now, pleasure coursing through him. Small sparks formed in the air around them; accidental magic being cast by Anders’ intense excitement.

He spoke with a voice rough from three orgasms worth of shouting. “Fuck me, Fenris.”

The elf’s body obeyed before his mind processed the request. His hips pulled back and snapped forward, unerringly finding Anders’ sweet spot. Anders’ head tossed back, his raw voice shouting in uncontrolled ardor. Fenris rode him... deep, hard, fast. Anders was in a state of intense overstimulation. More sparks of light swirled above them. Fenris felt the mage coming violently undone beneath him. His body surged, head tossed, hips thrust, arms thrown out to the sides as though to steady himself. His voice strained with each shout, face drawn into a rictus of pleasure.

Fenris was captivated. He held Anders tightly, watching the transformations of his face.  
Anders shuddered, his face bust open in an agony of tension... He was close, so close. Fenris held him tightly, and spoke into his ear.

“You’re close... I can feel it... feel me taking you... feel me holding you... you are so beautiful, Anders.... my Anders.... come for me....”

Suddenly, Fenris had trouble keeping his pace. Anders’ body was so forceful in its response, he nearly bucked the elf off of him. Fenris sat back on his heels, and dragged Anders’ hips up on his thighs, continuing his assault on his prostate. He wasn’t going to last much longer. His body was climbing the spiral to completion.

Anders was howling, now, wordless pleas, sobbing with crippling pleasure. Tears ran from his eyes, his back bowed, his breath drew deep and held.... And then he screamed, convulsing violently as his body spent what little fluid he had left in him. Fenris followed with a roar, lurching over him, gasping in rasping choked cries. He fell beside Anders, arms sliding around the mage to embrace him. Anders burst into sobs. Fenris gasped for breath, whispered into his ear.

“Sweet, sweet Anders. So good. So good. You came so hard for me. I came so hard for you. My Anders, my love, my own self.”

Anders’ sobs subsided, his face taking on a look of bliss. Fenris watched him, and smiled softly.

“Feel better?” he whispered. Anders muttered, eyes unfocused, the bliss still evident in the small smile that touched his lips. He blinked slowly, seemingly unaware of his surroundings. “Anders?” The mage didn’t respond, his head slowly lolling, lips moving as though whispering to himself.

Loud pounding on their suite door startled him. He heard the door open, and Dorian’s voice called out.

“You do realize we share a common wall, yes? And, while I appreciate a good smiting as much as the next man--”

“Dorian! Get in here! Something’s wrong....” Fenris yanked the sheet to waist level, just as Dorian stalked through the door in his dressing gown. He moved right up onto the bed, face full of concern.

It was clear that the issue was Anders. Dorian patted his cheeks, looked into his eyes, spoke his name. Anders continued his blissful daze. 

“I’m no healer, but he doesn’t seem injured.... Maker’s breath, it smells like a bordello in here!” He looked up at the brilliant lights still spinning above the bed, then at Fenris, with surprise. “Have you two been performing sex magic?” he asked incredulously.

“No! That sounds like blood magic. He would never do that. We were testing his stamina. And, then, he... did this. Are sure he’s alright? It couldn’t be from the Spiritu potion, could it?” He cupped Anders’ cheek, looked worriedly into his eyes.

“His... stamina? As in, the legendary Grey Warden stamina?” Dorian laughed. “Oh, Maker, I think I know what this is. How to ask this delicately... how many... er... how frequent....?”

“Oh. Him? Four times.”

“Fasta vass. Well, intentional or not, I’m pretty sure your Anders is in a state of Ecstasy Delirium. Congratulations.”

“What is that? Is he alright?” Fenris stroked his hair. Anders did, indeed look delirious.

Dorian smiled, sitting cross-legged on the mattress. The man seemed positively tickled. “Oh, yes. He’s riding the glorious high that many mages have sought, yet few ever find.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“I don’t doubt it. Most mages in Tevinter know of it, even if they’ve never experienced it. I’m certain it’s uncommon knowledge outside the Imperium.”

Fenris was frustrated. “But, what is it?”

“Oh, it’s sex magic. Which is not blood magic, be at ease. It’s the ultimate, magical, hedonic pursuit. A heightened state of pleasure attained through ritual, mana manipulation and intense physical stimulation. Seems you and Anders triggered it, accidentally. Well, really, four times... that’s a lot of energy flow.” Dorian shook his head. “I don’t know who I’m more impressed with, you or him.”

Fenris turned back to Anders. He rubbed his hand in the soft, cropped hair. He looked so blissed, so lost, so sweet... Fenris’ heart clenched. 

“If anyone deserves this sort of feeling, it’s my Anders. His life has been so hard.” He was surprised by the way his throat closed up on the last word. “He’s had so much pain, and I love him so much.” 

Dorian looked at him with understanding. “I believe you’re feeling some of that energy, yourself. Can make one a bit... emotional,” he said gently. 

Fenris nodded absently, his eyes on Anders. Both men waited quietly, hoping Anders would make his way back to reality. It was only a short time before he blinked rapidly, and took a deep breath. 

“Oh, my sweet Maker....” he breathed. He looked up at Fenris, then was startled to find Dorian in their bed. “What happened?”

Dorian chuckled. “I think I’ll leave that talk to Fenris. Then, get some rest. For my sake, if not your own.” He exited their room.

Fenris shrugged, a small, chagrined smile on his face. “We may have taken things a bit far.”

They joined Dorian for breakfast in the morning. As they fed themselves and each other, he scrutinized them. Finally, he spoke.

“Brass tacks, gentlemen. You need to get outside this house. Sex and swordplay are all well and fine, but there’s a great big world out there, waiting to be conquered.”

They froze in their meal, staring at him. Anders turned to Fenris.

“See? This is why I need longer hair. I have nothing to hide behind in moments like this.”

“Hide behind me. What sort of ‘exploring’ are you talking about?”

“Anything, really. I need to drop some documents at the local Circle. Too sensitive to be left to a courier. It’s but a few hours’ drive. Join me. Stay in the carriage, if you like, but look at something besides your bedroom ceiling, for a while.”

The carriage ride was unsettling. It was also exciting. It was an open carriage. The drive was through agricultural countryside, then into a city. Anders had his hand firmly gripped in Fenris’, but both were looking around with interest. 

“I’ve never been anywhere so warm. There’s no mud. And, it smells wonderful.”

Fenris was feeling a sense of... not homecoming, but something stronger than familiarity. He’d always found Tevinter, itself, beautiful. Just not the people. He glanced at the two men in the carriage with him. Perhaps, there were beautiful people here, too.

Dorian kept conversation going, pleased that both were handling it so well. Anders felt the breeze against his skin, the sun on his upheld face. He breathed in the scent of flowers and fields. Fenris had a slight smile on his face, enjoying the feel of the outdoors as much as Anders did.

He left them alone, with the driver, when he went inside the building. Anders examined the structure with interest. It was no prison, like the Circles with which he was familiar. It was a lovely design, open, people coming and going. He almost wanted to get out and explore it.

On the drive back, Fenris suddenly sat up, looking intently around him. He pointed to a turn-off, ahead. “Go that way.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, Fenris?” Dorian cautioned.

“Go that way.”

Dorian signaled the driver, and they made the turn.

In relatively short time, they approached an Estate. It appeared untenanted, no staff outside, gardens overgrown.

Dorian looked tense, as did Fenris.

“What is this place?” Anders asked, finally.

“This is Danarius’ Estate,” replied Fenris.

Anders paled. “Why are we here?”

Fenris was staring at the building intently. “I don’t know. I just need to.”

Dorian spoke. “He was impossibly deep in debt by the time he died. In his dementia, he’d run his fortune into the ground with mismanagement. Which was no small feat, his fortune was considerable. After the sell-off of his other properties, and liquidation of assets, this is all that remained. He has no family, just a distant relative with no interest in a run-down, poorly maintained estate. So, it sits here, empty, rotting further.”

Fenris jumped out of the carriage, and slowly approached the entryway. Anders looked at Dorian with anxiety and confusion. He had no desire to go in the house, but that was obviously where Fenris was headed. He slipped his hand into Dorian’s, relieved that he returned his hold.

As Fenris opened the door, he turned and looked back at Anders. “Please.”

Anders slowly stood, pulling Dorian after him, and dropped from the carriage. He followed Fenris, and crossed over the threshold into Hell’s foyer.

It was completely empty. No furniture, no tapestries, no rugs. Just dust on the tiles, and swirling lazily in the light coming through the windows. Anders reached for Fenris’ hand, still keeping hold of Dorian’s. Fenris pulled him close, and led them up the main stairwell. 

Fenris’ and Anders’ feet knew the path. To the top, then right, and down the corridor. Turn left, and through the only door in the hallway. The door was open. Fenris was relentless, walking straight through without hesitating. 

The tiles. Their knees meeting them in graceful coordination. Their faces pressed to them in supplication to a monster. The dais, once bearing a large pedestal bed; an alter upon which their pain and blood had been offered as sacrifice, time and time again.

Suddenly, Anders lurched, and vomited several times over the tiles. Both Fenris and Dorian put hands on his shoulders, supporting him, rubbing his back. When he finished, a flask and a handkerchief were pressed into his hands. Wiping his mouth, he took a sip of very fine brandy, rinsed and spat, then took a swallow. Dorian took them back. Anders trembled, crushing both men’s hands in his grip. Fenris held his head against his chest a moment, and led them out, again.

Down the stairs... then down more. And, more.

“Fenris....”

“Please.”

“Why?” 

“I need to know we’re not still there.”

“Alright.”

Still holding hands, the three men turned down a narrow, dark hallway. Dorian lit a flame in his palm, sent it floating to the ceiling.

They stopped. A door stood open, a tiny room beyond it. 

“Fasta vass... this is it?” Dorian whispered.

“Yes,” they both replied.

“You were both confined in... for weeks... months?” Dorian’s hand was over his mouth. “You told me... but....” He swung his fist at the door, making it clatter loudly in the dark corridor. “Vishante kaffas! I wish the bastard was alive, so I could kill him, myself!” 

Anders and Fenris were both shaking, staring at the room. This was where they’d learned to survive, formed their bond, became one another. Where Anders had prayed for his death, and Fenris had prayed for Anders' life. Where they’d wept, suffered, despaired, nearly died. 

“Burn it,” Fenris whispered. 

Anders and Dorian both flung out their hands, and sent flames shooting into the cell. It was mostly stone, but the masonry cracked, the stone charred, the door turned to ash.

When the mages had ceased their flame, Fenris pulled them back upstairs and outside, again. He didn’t head to the carriage, though. He strode around the side of the building, and along a stone path through the tall grass.

“Where are we going?” Anders asked nervously.

“He’s in the garden, I know he is.”

A small memorial garden was set back from the house. It held several dozen monuments, upon which ashes were spread after cremation. Sure enough, a new one sat near the front. Danarius’ name was chiseled on its onyx surface. It was a modest stone. Fenris was sure the magister would have been furious with the frugality of his memorial. His previous position had required some sort of monument; his ruin and reputation demanded nothing more than this knee-high brick.

Anders and Fenris stood before it. They looked at the paltry stone, then at each-other. Their hands went to their trouser ties. Side-by-side, they let their streams loose, and showered the stone in urine.

The rest of the ride to their estate was quiet. Anders and Fenris were wrapped in one another, as Anders gently sucked at Fenris’ neck. The elf felt the mage still trembling. Fenris massaged his fingers in the soft hair. His eyes watched the passing scenery over Anders’ shoulder, blinking in the sunshine. Dorian sat sideways with his feet up on his seat across from them, watching the same scenery. 

Fenris felt the mage pull away from his neck. He whispered in Anders’ ear. “I know it upset you. Thank you for letting me... do what I needed to do.”

Anders squeezed him, tightly. “Always.”

They sat in Dorian’s office, passing his flask of brandy, thinking their own thoughts. 

“I’m going to buy it,” Dorian abruptly declared.

“Why?” they asked.

“So I can raze it. That goes for the memorial garden, too. I’ll have the monuments transplanted, all but one. That one meets the same end as the house.”

“No argument, here,” Anders replied.

“I should have shit on his stone,” Fenris declared. 

“I nearly did,” Dorian admitted.

“You’re kidding.”

“No. I was this close to dropping trous and leaving a steaming calling-card on his ugly little rock.”

“I’d pay to see that,” Fenris said. Anders snorted.

“Yes. You and a fair number of others. Alas, a missed opportunity.” He stood, and moved to his desk. He thumbed through some delivered correspondence, and pulled a large envelope out of the pile. “Eve wrote,” he said. 

Fenris and Anders roused from their deep thoughts. Dorian opened the letter, and began reading through it. “Maker’s breath! She married Cullen!”

“She what?” “That’s wonderful!”

Dorian shook his head. “I can’t believe it. I shall have to change my descriptors, again. He’s adopted a stray mabari... typical Fereldan....” He continued reading through it. “Oh... my.” He lifted the envelope and shook it. Another letter fell out of it. He stood and carried it to them. “It’s for you.”

Anders took the thick envelope from him, and looked for the name of the sender.

It was from Varric Tethras, Viscount of Kirkwall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure Grey Warden stamina refers to something beyond the bedroom, but I'm a dirty, dirty girl. And, I just loved the idea of some sort of sex-magic-Holy-Grail that Tevinter mages had discovered at some point in history. If it's not clear in the story, Dorian's never experienced it. But, you know, he reads a lot. And, I'm sure there's some dog-eared, underlined passage in an ancient tome at the Circle library, that adolescent mages gather around and snigger at. 
> 
> Ever returned to the scene of a traumatic event? It's... weird. Frightening, painful, and digs shit up.


	13. What Went Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders and Fenris learn what really happened that day.

Anders stared at the letter in his hand. “Fenris....” The elf took it from him, stared at it, as well. 

“I don’t... I want... I can’t.... ” Anders’ throat was thick, closing around his words. Fenris nodded, not even trying to speak.

Dorian spoke. “Would you like me to read it aloud?” 

They nodded. Dorian took the envelope, and sat across from them. Anders and Fenris gripped hands as Dorian leaned forward, and began to read. Even through Dorian’s smooth voice, they heard Varric’s flat Kirkwall accent.

“Dear Anders and Fenris,

“In my heart, you’ll always be Blondie and Broody. Always the bickering elf and mage who fought with us, bled with us, drank with us. But, no doubt you’re different people, by now. I don’t know what all you’ve been through, but I’m pretty sure it was pretty bad. I don’t know if you’re still Blondie and Broody. I hope one day to find out.

“This is a letter I’ve hoped to write for over six years, now. Nah, that’s not really true. These are the words I’ve wanted to say to you for over six years. But, as things lie, a letter will have to do.

“I have thought of that fateful afternoon in the Hanged Man, every day since. Asking myself why I trusted Hawke, why he did what he did, what I could have done differently. Answers come and go, but the truth of it is, it doesn’t matter. It went down the way it did, and nothing I do will change that. Maker knows, I want to. We all want to. 

“When Hawke agreed to give Broody to Danarius, I just didn’t believe it. Literally, I didn’t believe that was actually what he was doing. I was sure it was a ruse, on both your parts. Then, when he threw Blondie at him, I knew it had to be. He was setting the Magister up; it was a trap the three of you had arranged ahead of time. 

“Then, you were gone.

“‘What’s the plan?’ I asked, when the door closed. Hawke stepped to the bar to order a drink.

“‘What plan?’ he replied.

“‘Giving Blondie and Broody to the Tevinter asshole, Hawke. What’s the next step?’

“‘There’s no next step, Varric. Those two have been pissing people off since day one. It’s good riddance is what it is.’ 

“We all looked at each other; Rivaini, Daisy, Aveline and I. Turns out, they’d thought the same thing that I had. I mean, why else would he have done what he did? He gave you to that bastard, and we’d just watched you walk out the door, waiting for Part Two of a plan that didn’t exist. We stood there in shock for a second. Then, Daisy, screaming like a varterral, picked up Hawke’s ale, and brought the tankard down on his head. Dropped him like a stone. Bless her soul, I’ve never been prouder, I swear. 

“We all agreed we were going after you. Aveline couldn’t. Hawke had gotten pretty tight with Meredith. The only thing keeping the city from chaos, at that point, had been Aveline. If she personally moved against a visiting dignitary, as well as thwarted Hawke... well, we couldn’t have Hawke putting her position at risk. She made for the Keep, to send reinforcements. We made for the docks, to get you both back.

“Of course, it wasn’t easy. Danarius had a lot more men with him than had come into the tavern. His rear-guard was a block long, I swear. Isabella ran around parallel streets to get ahead and flank them, while Daisy and I picked them off from behind as best we could. It wasn’t easy. We both took hits. When we cut through enough to see Rivaini... she was like a blur. You should have seen the way she fought to get to you. I’ve never seen her in such a fury, before or since. See, we’d all stood by her, even after she’d left to find the Qunari tome. She was repaying that debt, come Hell or high water.

“Reinforcements showed up, then; Donnic with a hefty compliment of guards. With them, we were able to gain ground on the Magister, and nearly had him at the docks. We caught a bare glimpse of Fenris as he boarded the ship, that white hair of his stands out. Then, a retinue of Templars closed the docks for all embarking and debarking. ‘To prevent hostilities to the Tevinter ship’, they said.

“Donnic couldn’t order the guards to attack the Templars. No ships were going out, except the one you were on. Rivaini was hurt pretty bad, but she hailed us all to follow to her ship sitting at dock. She had no crew, at that point, but a couple of the guardsmen had been fishermen in their youth. We picked-up a couple more sailers willing to make a sovereign. They, Donnic, and the rest of us went aboard, and managed to set sail. Donnic, he fought like a madman through the streets. Guess you two’d gotten close, Fenris, playing cards every week. The idea of you returning to slavery... well, he couldn’t let that happen.

“Now, we’ve all heard Rivaini boast about her captaincy, but I’m telling you now, it’s not an empty boast. That woman can sail. She had us all manning whatever it was she had us manning, and we were hard out of the harbor. The Tevinter boat had already passed through, and was heading to sea. 

“As we were bearing down on the Twins, that damned chain net--the one you hear about, but have never seen--starts pulling up. We can see the chains on the pillars moving, no idea how deep the net is. Daisy’s shooting ice at the things, slowing the rise; Rivaini isn’t slowing down a smidge. Some-damn-how, we slide right over it. We could hear the chain scrape along the keel as we sailed through the pillars.

“As soon as we were out of harbor, we saw what we were up against. Danarius wasn’t alone. He had a damned armada with him. Alright, it wasn’t an armada, but he had a half-dozen ships surrounding his. We were sailing light, and made good time catching up. As soon as they spotted us, several of those escorts swung around to meet us. 

“They had cannon, and they had mages. I can only assume the cannon were stolen from Qunari vessels during hostilities. We had Rivaini, Daisy, and Bianca. Somehow, and to this day, I don’t know how, we fought through those three ships. Rivaini was like a goddess of the sea, commanding the wind and current to her bidding. She had Daisy focused on taking down the sails and masts, Bianca was taking out the cannon handlers and mages... Donnic took shrapnel through the leg. He lived, but still has a limp.

“We lost a lot of time in the skirmish, but as soon as we were clear, it was full sail after you, again. Two of the three remaining escorts circled back as soon they caught sight of us. It was over pretty quick. A cannon barrage and some firebolts took out our sails, and one mast. A final barrage took down the main mast, and we were dead in the water. The escorts turned, and headed back to the Tevinter ship. We sat there, and watched you disappear over the horizon. 

“Damn, I’m sorry. We’re all so damned sorry. 

“We were adrift for a day, when a merchant ship came across us, and towed us back to Kirkwall. Rivaini had the name of the ship you were on, and we searched for its home-port. It was an Antivan ship, likely a hire. Rivaini tried, but part of hiring transport from Antivans is their discretion. No one would say where you made port, or if there was a known address for the passenger.

“I set every international contact I had on the case. Finding Danarius’ estate wasn’t all that hard, he’s well-known. The problem was that he had about a dozen estates throughout the Imperium, and twice that elsewhere. Trying to isolate where he’d gone with you was tough. Even I only have so many contacts. 

“I even wrote to the Grey Wardens. I was sure they’d get involved, if one of their own was taken by a Tevinter slaver. No dice. They were sympathetic, of course. But, Anders had left the order of his own accord. Tevinter is a touchy country, regardless, and the Wardens keep a strict policy of non-political involvement. They couldn’t, or wouldn’t, help.

“Aveline tried to get the rest of the Free Marches involved, knowing Meredith would fight Kirkwall’s involvement. Neither of you had a claim in the Free Marches. Anders was an apostate refugee, Fenris was a Tevinter slave, now returned to Tevinter. There was no legal precedence, although one would hope that ethical precedence might prevail. It didn’t.

“My network picked up some rumors about Fenris, but you two seemed to disappear. It’s not easy to get information in the Imperium. The best source of intel is from slaves and the poor... and, they won’t talk. Too afraid of the rich that govern them, I guess.

“Hawke... damn him... got weirder and weirder. When the Annulment was called on the Kirkwall Circle, he fought alongside Meredith. The rest of us didn’t. We fought for the mages. Of course, at the end, she turned on Hawke, and then it was all about ‘the team’, again. Well, whatever. It worked. The bitch went down. She’s still down, kneeling in the Gallows courtyard, a statue of red lyrium.

“I kept contact with Hawke, if for no other reason, than to keep an eye on his craziness. Rivaini set sail, after repairing her ship. The sailors we’d hired to help the day you were taken, stayed on as crew. They’d never seen a better captain, and jumped at the chance to serve under her. In more ways than one, no doubt. Daisy went with her. She just couldn’t stand to stay, after you left. See, she’d already lost her entire Clan. When Hawke handed you over, it was like it was happening, again. That’s why she tried to kill him with his own tankard. Sometimes, I wish she’d succeeded.

“Aveline and Donnic stayed in Kirkwall, and they’ve been the greatest source of strength and sanity this city has had, ever since. If they weren’t there, I don’t think I’d have accepted the Viscount nomination. 

“We all talked about what went wrong with Hawke. Nearest we can figure, it all started with Leandra’s death. It seemed to set him on a downward spiral. He was alone, and you know how much family mattered to him. Why he wasn’t able to turn to us as family, I don’t know. I can only hope he found a peace in his death that he didn’t find in his life.

“Ever since you left, I kept my ear to the wall. It was harder when Corypheus showed up. All of Tevinter was a hotbed of political unbalance, Venatori this, Inquisition that. My men couldn’t get a peep out of anyone. Plus, I was in the ass-end of nowhere, fighting alongside our beloved Inquisitor. I’m glad you’ve had the chance to know her. She and Sparkler are good people. Hearing you were with them... well, it made me believe good things can happen in this world.

“Anyway, eventually word got out to my contacts that Danarius had died, and his estate was being divied-up. My men got there as soon as arrangements could be made. They were too late to find you. The officials who'd handled the estate division had left. Nothing but a small crew of cleaners, left in the house. But, a couple of his former slaves on the crew were actually willing to talk.

“They confirmed that, yes, you’d been in the house for years. But, as far as they knew, Danarius had killed you both. You were seen once, before he died, and then, service to your cell was suspended. As far as they knew, you were dead. Rumor was, you’d been sacrificed in a blood ritual.

“We mourned you. It was damned hard news to hear.

“Then, today, Eve told me she and Dorian have you... shit. Nothing has ever made me happier. I mean it. Not a Maker-damned thing.

“What I want most in this world, is for the two of you to live good lives. To beat whatever horrors you’ve had, and find happiness. What I want second-most, is to sit down with you again, over a game of cards and a pitcher of ale. 

“I’ll leave this letter, here, now. You have only to ask, and... well, I’m here for you. All of us are.

“Varric.”

When Dorian stopped reading, the room was silent. Fenris felt empty and full, at the same time. Anders’ face was twitching, his hand in Fenris’ starting to shake.

Fenris spoke. “Thank you,Dorian.”

Dorian held the letter to Fenris. “Of course.”

“Excuse us,” the elf said, and led Anders to their room. He stripped them both down, tucked Anders into bed with him, and held him. He rubbed his back, waiting. Then, as Fenris anticipated, Anders began to weep. Fenris wept with him. He didn’t know if it was joy, guilt, something else entirely... they just cried. 

With the exception of Hawke, Fenris and Anders hadn’t been betrayed, after all. All of their friends had fought for them. They’d been injured trying to get to them. They’d risked death, and drowning in the open sea to find them and bring them back.

And, then, they’d kept looking. Even through the end of the world, Varric kept looking. 

Their tears finally dried, and their hearts healed that much more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... there you have it.
> 
> Although they were in the ballroom their final day at Danarius' estate, the couple slaves Varric's guys talked to, apparently didn't notice them. There was a lot going on. The same kinda misinfo that happens, in the real world.
> 
> I travel for work, and I'm heading off for a couple days. Updates may be slow, the rest of this week, just so you know. But, they will be coming, oh yes, they will be coming.


	14. Expanding Horizons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian receives unexpected news.
> 
> Anders and Fenris take on a larger world.
> 
>  

Fenris woke well past midnight. Anders was sitting up in bed, with a lamp lit. He was reading Varric’s letter, again. Fenris slid over and put his head in Anders’ lap. He lay in warmth and peace, feeling Anders’ fingers massage into his hair. 

Soon, Anders put the letter down, and continued his caress of the elf’s hair. Finally, the mage spoke.

“They didn’t let us go.”

“They didn’t.”

“They fought for us.”

“They did.”

He heard Anders choke-up slightly. “They were...they are...our friends.”

“They are.”

Then, Anders snorted lightly. “Merrill smashed his gourd with his tankard of ale.”

Fenris chuckled. “That one move makes her one of my favorite people.”

“I want to answer Varric’s letter. But... I have no idea what to say. How do I describe the past six years? I can barely think about it, let alone talk about it in casual conversation. How would that sound, anyway? ‘What have I been up to? Oh, I spent some time at an estate in the country; rape, torture, starvation, terror. The usual. Terribly dull’. See what I mean?” 

Fenris quirked his lips. In that one, morbid statement, Anders sounded much like his old self. “You don’t have to tell anyone, anything. That was usually my choice. If I hadn’t been so deep in slave mind-set when we arrived here, I wouldn’t have told Dorian and Eve as much as I did.”

“I’m glad you did, though. Telling them made a huge difference. But, the reason they asked questions was different from why other people will ask. And, I don’t know how to answer.”

“It’s up to you, Anders. You can offer the ugly truth for public consumption, or you can keep it to yourself. The fact is, no matter what you say, no one else can truly understand. Even if they want to, they can’t. They didn’t experience it.” 

Anders lay down and waved a hand at the lamp, extinguishing it. The night candle in the corner gave its soothing, dim glow. “I’m not ready to write, yet. I’ll wait until I know what to say.”

When they awoke, again, it was past dawn. They dressed, and made their way to a part of the gardens they hadn’t been in, before.

The grounds were beautiful, and vast. Anders was a bit nervous in the open space, and held Fenris’ hand, but he was happy to be outdoors, again. The ride in the carriage had touched on his love for the outdoors; which wasn’t so much a love as a desire to be anywhere other than imprisoned. Coming upon a bench at the edge of a large pond, they stopped and enjoyed the morning sun.

Anders sat and watched Fenris as he played with his sword. The elf stood a safe distance away, balancing his sword on its pommel, in his palm. “If you cut your foot off dropping that, don’t come running to me.”

Fenris smirked, and tossed the blade up, catching it, again, after it spun in mid-air. “I’ve always come running to you for healing magic. No one else has ever healed me.”

“You’re kidding.”

The sword was balanced in his palm, again. “No. Danarius had no healing magic, he used potions. I didn’t trust Merrill, and Hawke never brought Bethany on missions. You are the only mage who has ever healed me with magic.”

“Wow. I feel like... I don’t know. Honored.”

Fenris snorted. “I wouldn’t got that far. I wasn’t exactly polite about it.”

“True. You could be a right prick, sometimes.”

The sword flew up again, fell pommel-first into his hand. “You know you were an annoying pest, do you not?”

“I had convictions.”

“You had a smart mouth.”

Anders grinned. “You don’t complain about my mouth, now.”

Fenris grinned back. “Nor will I. Ever, again.”

Dorian’s voice came to them. “Ah, domestic felicity.” They turned to see him ambling through the garden toward them. “You found my favorite spot,” he mused, sitting on the far end of the bench. He stretched his arms on the back. “How are you feeling?”

Fenris looked up, the sword swinging around his body in complicated patterns.“Like a great truth has been revealed.”

Anders spoke. “Like, maybe, I can move on.”

Fenris sat between them, and put his sword away. They all sat in companionable silence. 

A movement on the far side of the pond caught their eyes. A fat, black cat had slunk out of the shrubbery, and was crouched by the water’s edge. Fenris glanced at Anders. The mage had, of course, seen the animal, and intently watched its every move. When Dorian swung his leg up to cross it over his knee, the cat lowered its head, green eyes going flat on their tops, and glared at them. 

Anders laughed. “It looks like you, Love. You glower the same way.”

“Good. It’s an impressive glower.”

They watched the cat a while. 

Fenris asked, quietly, “Do you want to pet that cat?”

Anders jolted. “No. No, Fenris, no.”

Fenris took his hand. “Be calm, my mage. You don’t have to. I just thought you might like to.”

Dorian watched their interaction. “Not a fan of cats, I take it?”

“I like cats,” Anders tried to say with a steady voice, but failing. “I’ve always liked cats.”

Dorian looked quizzically at Fenris.

Fenris debated his reply. “Danarius allowed him to grow attached to a cat in his courtyard. This was after he’d been given the Spiritu potion, and his mind was still so damaged. Danarius killed it while it was in Anders’ arms. To remind us that Anders might also be killed, at any time.”

“Vishante kaffas!!” Dorian leaned forward, and put his head in his hands. “Maker’s breath.”

Anders spoke, quietly. “My mind is still so damaged. Every damned thing makes me cry. So many things make me feel like I’m losing control: my heart races, my mind panics. And, then, all I want to do is hide in Fenris. I hate it that I have to comfort myself like a babe at the breast. I’m a grown man, dammit. But, when I taste him, and smell him--it stills my mind. It soothes my wretched soul. 

“I know I’m never going to be whole. But, I want to make some kind of a life. I don’t want Fenris to have to babysit me, every minute of the day. I want to be a Healer, again. But, how can I, if I can’t even talk to my patients?”

Fenris pulled him close. “I don’t babysit you. I have as much trouble leaving your side, as you do mine. And, your soul isn’t wretched, it was torn apart. I’m very proud of how well you’re doing.”

“There’s no rush, Anders,” Dorian assured him. “Let healing happen in it’s own time. That’s what Eve always says, anyway. We’ll make more trips, skipping the scenic route, next time. A library, the park, the theatre. Things with little interaction. Grow accustomed to the presence of people, before you concern yourself with talking to them.”

“And, what happens when someone tries to talk to me?”

Fenris spoke up. “Hide behind me. I’m your bodyguard, after all. All I need do, is stand in front of you. It’s a clear message that you do not wish to be disturbed.”

The three men sat quietly for a while, again.

Anders sighed. “I want to go to the library.”

Dorian smiled. “Do you?”

“Not really, but of all the places I can start, it seems like a good one.”

It was a good one. Particularly for Fenris. He’d seen the libraries at various estates, but never a true library. Dorian chose a public one, rather than a Circle library. They were less frequented by nobility. Here, Anders would be treated with deference, left alone with his elf.

Both could barely contain their awe as they walked through the door. Anders had studied for years in the Kinloch Hold library. That one could have fit in the ground floor of this building. Books... books... everywhere, books. The building was circular, which was a bit of irony for Anders. Dorian explained that it had once been a Circle of Magi, in eons past. Now, it had no floors or ceilings in the center of the building. Standing in the center of the ground floor, one could look five stories up to the top. There were shelves along the walls, spiraling up on stairways, and wide walkways, all around the inside walls. Slender windows let the bright sun in to shine clear down to the bottom floor. Gold-hued marble, gold foil and inlaid mosaic pieces made the place a piece of art, regardless of function. 

Fenris hadn’t realized so many books existed, let alone in one place. His reading had improved since living with Dorian and Eve. Anders always had the time and patience to work with him. Fenris couldn’t handle the level of reading his housemates possessed... yet. But, he was more adept than the average citizen. He was sure there were books in this building that he could read. 

Holding hands, Anders and Fenris stared up and around in delight. Each headed in different directions, and were jerked abruptly back by their own hand-hold. Dorian muffled a laugh behind his hand. He signaled a docent, and requested a tour. 

Anders had never been so deferentially treated. The man bowed. No hand was offered for shaking... another reason Dorian had chosen the place. Only another Altus or higher would seek to touch Anders.

The tour was delightful. Little was required of Anders, except that he listen. Fenris was entranced. He knew the docent had dismissed him the moment he’d seen him, but he preferred it. He was able to look about him, focus on Anders, listen to what interested him. 

When the docent directed their attention to a very old, very large book sitting on a raised dais, Anders stepped forward. It was a grimoire. He pulled his hand from Fenris’ to carefully turn the pages, engrossed in the tome. Fenris held up his empty hands to show Dorian, and they shared a grin.

After the tour, they browsed books. Dorian taught Anders a clever bit of magic he'd been shown by Solas, an elf apostate he'd worked with in the Inquisition. With focus, he could summon a small object from a short distance, to float into his grasp. Anders was thrilled. Soon he was summoning books from high shelves, nearly dancing with the novelty of it. Fenris shook his head at their antics, and kept his head out of the way of flying books. He chose a couple of works about the fall of Arlathan. 

“You know those don’t tell the true story of what happened to Arlathan,” Dorian murmured.

“I know. You explained it. But, for me to really understand your work, I should understand what the populace believes. I’m uneducated. I’d like to remedy that.”

Anders grinned at him over his tall stack of books. 

“When do you plan to read all of those?” Fenris asked.

“I’m not reading all of each one. I’m doing research into lyrium.”

“Why?”

“Couple reasons.”

The start was auspicious. They continued making forays into the world of people. Trips to museums, parks, theaters, libraries.... Over the next month, Dorian helped them grow accustomed to society. Anders and Fenris worried that Dorian was spending so much time with them. They both knew he had work to do, and that he was sacrificing time to help them. He scoffed.

“It’s true, I’m working toward something important to me, which I believe is important for all of my countrymen. However, time is not necessarily of the essence. Reformation is a long-term process. It cannot be forced. Could I do more right now? Yes. Is helping you both with your own progress more important? Absolutely. You’re my friends, my family, you’re important. Sadly, what happened to you is the worst example of the kind of corruption I hope to defeat. How could I not want to take the time to help you become whole, again?” 

Hearing this reaffirmed what they already knew--Dorian Pavus was a greathearted, generous soul. Which made it all the less pleasant when he received unsettling news.

They had wandered into his suite to join him for supper, early in the evening. He sat at his desk, staring pensively at a letter before him.

“Dorian?” Anders asked quietly.

Dorian lifted his head, and took in their presence. “Forgive me,” he said. “Time got past me. I received some rather unexpected news.” He lifted the letter, in explanation.

“What news?” They both asked, in unison.

Dorian reached for a decanter of whiskey. He poured himself a drink. 

“The Inquisition’s been disbanded.”

“Why?” they asked. Dorian glanced at them, shaking his head. 

“You still do that, sometimes. I find it’s still unnerving.” He took a sip from his drink. “It was Eve’s call. There was really an alarming number of ungrateful prigs at the Council. Arle Teagan, chief among them.” He shook his head. “And, after all we’d done to save his Arling.”

“That doesn’t explain why,” Fenris pressed. “Seems a serious decision to make, as influential as the Inquisition became.”

“Eve doesn’t go into a lot of detail, in her letter. Security reasons, I imagine. I don’t question Eve’s choice. I’m pleased the Advisors were in accord. She had resigned, after all. I’m surprised at the sense of loss that I feel. The Inquisition was a remarkable institution, that wrought near-miracles. It changed the world, for good or ill. 

“Which brings me to another distressing point. Eve mentioned that the Fade Mark on her hand had expanded during her time away. She writes that she’s lost her arm.”

Anders’ hand covered his mouth. “Maker. Damn it. Oh, Eve.” 

Dorian tossed back the remainder of his drink. “Indeed. I would have hoped fate would play more kindly on her behalf. She’s a remarkable woman. She would not desire our grief in this matter, I know that. And, so, on a good note, she’s coming back! With Cullen, surprisingly enough. I suppose they are wed, now, after all. And, she writes that he’s retired as Commander of the Inquisition forces. Which makes sense, as the Inquisition is no more. 

“Bull and his Chargers are escorting them both here, as arranged. Which, I admit, pleases me greatly.” He smirked. “We will have a very full House, for a short while. She and Cullen will then return to... well, Ferelden, I suppose. I believe he has family there. The Chargers will escort them out, again.”

“Can she still perform magic, with one arm?” Fenris asked.

Both mages nodded. “It’s a common misbelief that if you take a mage’s hands, they cannot perform magic,” Dorian said. “Not true. They would need to do a lot of relearning if they lost both hands, but it could be done. With one hand, Eve will be fine. She’s powerful, and resourceful.”

“Still, losing a limb is difficult,” Anders said.

Dorian nodded. “No doubt. I believe, when you see her with Cullen, your mind will rest at ease. He truly is attentive, in the best of ways. I may bedevil him, but in truth, he’s exceptionally good to her. They will have a cordial marriage.”

Fenris smirked. “Romantic.”

“Perish the thought! My personal interest lies in desire, not romance.”

Both men replied. “Liar.”

“Have I not made this clear? Tevinter has no room for such idle notions as romance. It’s about breeding, alliances and furtive, lusty trysts. Nothing more.”

Anders thought about that comment for the rest of the evening. Finally, he brought it to Fenris.

“Do you really believe Dorian when he says there’s no romance in Tevinter? That he has no romantic feelings toward The Iron Bull?”

Fenris smiled, and pulled Anders into his lap. He gave the mage’s neck a series of kisses, then looked at him with adoring eyes. “I knew that bothered you. You’re the romantic, in this House.”

“Really... do you think he’s putting on an act, or that he doesn’t feel that way?”

“Dorian has all the romantic feelings that you or I do. I believe he cares very much for Bull. How much, is difficult to tell until I see them together. Keep in mind the way Dorian was raised, and Tevinter’s views on same-gender relationships. He’s a noble, he can’t show his true feelings.”

“That’s awful. I don’t care if I’m a noble, now. I’m showing my feelings.”

Fenris laughed. “When have you ever not expressed your feelings? Except as a slave, and even then, it was hard for you. Take care what you betray to those in your social sphere. Many would find ammunition in such declarations of emotion. Which is why Dorian finds it difficult to tell of his true feelings, even to us.”

Anders played his fingers into the elf’s silky hair, thinking. “How do you know so much about noble social dynamics?”

Fenris snorted. "Watch the slaves you see when we go out. The ones trotting at heel, those kneeling as the family eats, the ones carrying packages their masters have purchased. They're ignored, like furniture or a dog on a leash. They're forgotten. Yet, they see everything. They hear every conversation. Trust me, Tevinter is awash with love and romance. The only ones who don’t know it are those who are trying to hide it. Slaves know more about their masters than their masters do. Before I ran away, I was privy to many secrets and conspiracies. I knew more about the political machinations of Danarius and his cronies than all of them put together."

"Consider this, Anders... think of the things you knew of him, the intimate knowledge forced upon us. Do you remember those who coveted his favor? The men who used us, treating us with disdain enough to discuss private affairs in our presence? Don't think of what they did... breathe, my mage." He rubbed his back, gave him a moment, and Anders calmed. "Remember the conversations. The secrets. The shame of their corruption. These are the sorts of things that could be used, if necessary."

Anders was quiet, mulling it over. He tilted Fenris' chin up, looking into the expressive green eyes and beautiful face of the man he loved.

"I could never ignore you or forget you were beside me. I can hardly take my eyes off of you," he said in wonder.

Fenris gently stroked a finger along Anders' hairline."Because we are one; you're not my master. I'm pleased to be able to blend into the background, in others' vision. I can look upon you to my heart's content. I can make sure you're safe. And, I can hear the talk around us. This will be helpful to you, as you build your life."

"I don't like you being in the background. You deserve the same attention that I get."

Fenris chuckled. "Deserve it, perhaps. But, I don't want it. Have you ever known me to be an attention whore?"

Anders laughed. "Well, no, now that you mention it. You've always preferred the shadows." He thought for a moment. "I was more the attention whore, in Kirkwall."

Fenris laughed. "There was a time you pandered to be heard, yes. Not anymore. I think we will both be jockeying for a position in the shadows, now."

They sat quietly, enjoying the peace of each other's arms.

“I feel both so sad, and so happy for Eve. I’m sorry for what’s happened to her, but so pleased that she has Cullen.” He paused. “I can’t believe I’m happy that a mage is married to a Templar.”

Fenris shook his head, smiling. He attacked Anders’ neck with more kisses. “How can you have so many feelings, at once, and then not believe that you have them?” 

Anders drew the elf in for a long, heated kiss. “It’s a very un-Tevinter-like talent,” he confessed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fenris is the still water that runs deep. 
> 
> Poor Anders. I feel for him. It's not easy to know that there's things that are just going to be hard. Especially, when there was a time when those things were easy.


	15. Antipathy and Altruism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders and Fenris come face-to-face with a memory.
> 
> Anders makes a gift for Eve and Cullen.

Fenris sat in the sunlight pouring through their suite window. The book he read was engaging, but his body clamored for activity.

He glanced at the mage sitting at the desk, bent over several books; going from one to the other, making notes in his journal. Anders could spend hours upon hours in research. He completely lost himself. 

The elf sighed, and stood. He moved to a clear area of their floor, and went through some sword exercises. He followed this with some lyrium phase-work. It didn't hold his interest. He smirked at himself. So many months ago, Eve had suggested they might be bored in their little room. He'd scoffed at the idea. How time had changed things. 

He looked at the mage again, the line of his neck bared by his robes. He approached him from behind, burying his nose in his neck. “I’m bored. What are you working on?”

“Remember Eve said that Cullen quit taking lyrium when he left the templars?”

Fenris breathed in Anders’ scent. “Yes.”

“Well, lyrium withdrawal is pretty miserable. No one’s really done any research on lyrium and the non-mage. It’s just accepted that Templars will lose their minds to it, eventually. I never cared before... figured they got what they deserved for choosing a career as a massive metal moron. But, listening to Eve talk about Cullen... I kind of feel for the guy. He actually had the sense and sensibility to leave the Order. Maybe he’s not so bad.” 

“I thought you held his ‘mages aren’t people’ speech against him. He did work as Meredith’s Captain, all those years.” 

“Believe me, it’s not easy to reconcile that. For all I know, he’s a colossal ass, who’s got Eve completely cock-blind. But, even Dorian thought he was alright, for a bruiser.”

“So what is it you hope to accomplish?” Fenris sucked along the mage’s neck. 

Anders tilted his head to give the elf better access. “Mmm... that’s nice.... Um. I want to find a way to ease the withdrawal symptoms. Tevinter has looked into this more than the rest of Thedas. Some mages used to go overboard with lyrium, and need cleansing. Maker, Fenris....”

The elf nipped along Anders’ shoulder, hands tugging at the mage’s robes. “Why all this for a man you barely know?” 

Anders started helping Fenris remove the robes. “Not for him, for Eve. She loves him. She’ll share in his pain.... I take it you’re not bored, anymore....”

A day came when Dorian had a meeting at the nearby Circle. His offer for Fenris and Anders to join him, and peruse the Circle library while he was in conference, was met with excited acceptance from Anders, and reluctance from Fenris. The elf still had no love for mages, in general. He cared only for those three with whom he'd shared the House. The Circle would be crawling with unknown mages.

Anders and Fenris were both a bit keyed-up. They'd been to many activities with Dorian, but, this would be their first without him in sight. Fenris was certain he and Anders could manage themselves, for a short time. The Circle was busy, with many notables arriving for the meeting. Dorian took them inside, and showed them to a small room in a dormitory wing. It was modest, with a large bed and small bath.

“This is a guest room I retain for long conferences. Before I had your fine countenances to which to return at home, I typically stayed in the Circle overnight when I came for business. Take the key. If you feel overwhelmed, or desire some quiet, return here and relax. I’ll meet you here for lunch.”

Once he’d left, they looked at one another with determination. They headed into the unknown, alone.

It was surprisingly uneventful. The library had a few students in it. They both watched from a distance as they practiced their magic. It was entirely unlike the Ferelden Circle. Such freedom. Such self-assurance. Such an absence of Templars. He’d seen the Imperial Templars on the streets and in buildings. Wearing black armor with a white sunburst where the Sword of Mercy would be, in the South; they were less like Templars, and more like city guards. Anders liked that aspect of Tevinter, very much.

Dorian was exited when he met them for lunch. 

“I had no idea Belus Wallus would be here. This is delightful”

“Who is he?” Anders asked.

“A sympathizer to my cause. Many call him a bleeding heart, for his beliefs regarding slave treatment and policy in the Imperium. He hasn’t freed his slaves. He feels complete freedom for slaves in Tevinter could cause an economic crisis. Done without safety nets in place, it could. The entire economy is based on slave labor. He does, however, believe there should be other safety nets in place, to prevent the kind of things you experienced. He proposes guarantees for slave well-being, medical care, grievances. He is a powerful ally, even if he doesn’t look as far as freedom for slaves.”

“Have you mentioned him before? The name Wallus sounds familiar,” Anders mused.

“I don’t believe so. I may have.”

Fenris grunted around a large mouthful of bread. He looked at Anders and grabbed his own ear, miming a sharp twist. Anders choked on his wine.

Dorian pounded him on the back. “What in the world was that about?”

Anders stared at Fenris. “That was Belus Wallus?” he gasped in disbelief.

Fenris finally managed to swallow his bread. “No. That was Nevus Wallus. His son.”

Dorian frowned. “You’ve met Nevus?”

Fenris answered. “He was an occasional visitor to Danarius’ parties.”

“He’s a sadistic bigot,” Anders growled, eyes narrowing.

Dorian stared. “Nevus? You’re quite sure?”

“Short, round, black hair?”

“That’s Nevus. That’s disturbing to hear, for more reasons than the obvious. He’s the youngest of three sons, yet he purports to be so in-line with his father’s philosophies, that Belus has made him his heir. I’ve not caught sight of Nevus, here, at the least.”

Dorian returned to the meeting when lunch concluded. 

Fenris pulled Anders to his feet. “Come mage. You have books to search.”

Fenris wandered the shelves in view of Anders as the mage did his research. The books in the Circle library could not be removed, so Anders pored through those he chose, taking notes in his tidy, cramped script. Fenris wandered, idly looking at titles. There was little in this library to interest him. The school of magic contained literature about magic. He glanced at Anders, pleased that he seemed so at ease.

“Hello, knife ear... all alone?" Fenris spun about. Nevus Wallus stood uncomfortably close, leering at him. "I’d heard Dorian had bought you from the estate. Left you to fend for yourself, did he?” Nevus leaned forward, one arm against the bookshelf behind Fenris, the other hand coming up to stroke a pointed ear. 

Fenris' first instinct had been to make a defensive maneuver, any kind of maneuver. The instant Wallus leaned close and touched his ear, his mind splintered. He was lost in the past; the pain of violation, cruel laughter as his ears were twisted and pulled, used to hold and move him as Wallus desired.

His heart launched into a panicked gallup. He heard his own voice barely escape his lips, “...no....”

Suddenly, the offending hand was caught in a tight grip. Fenris felt the hair-raising sensation of electricity as it traveled through Nevus’ body, drawing the man unnaturally straight.

“Touch him again, I will kill you,” Anders’ voice ground out.

With his other hand, Anders pulled Fenris to him. Anders’ face was a mask of fury.

The electric shock wore off as Nevus stood there. Noting Anders’ dress and amulet, he realized he faced an equal. “I do apologize. I had no idea he was yours. I’ve met him, before, you see.” 

“Yes, I saw. You’re a vile, sadistic, pig. If you so much as look at Fenris again, I’ll fry your bollucks where they hang.”

“Who are you to talk to me this way? I’ve half a mind....” 

“I’d wager you’ve less. Anders of House Pavus.” Clearly, Nevus didn't recognize Anders as one of the slaves he'd used in years past.

Anders continued, his energy on hand as he spoke. “I understand your father is in the conference. Perhaps he’d enjoy a detailed account of your sycophantic visits to Danarius’ House?”

Nevus was jarred, but rallying. “You have no proof. You’re a stranger, and a foreigner. Father wouldn’t give you the time of day.”

“I wouldn’t ask for the time of day, you pinhead. What I would do, is give names, events... hell, I’ll even describe the birthmark on your flabby ass.” 

Fenris could see that Nevus was concerned. However Anders had managed to foster the courage for this interaction, he was playing it well. Such information could cause Nevus’ fall from his father’s graces. Both men felt the pull of energy as Nevus prepared to cast. Anders hit him with a simple static cage. “Too slow, swine. Heed my very serious warning: you touch Fenris, you will die.”

He spun around, pulling the elf with him, and stalked from the library. 

As soon as their room door slammed shut, Anders took the elf into a tight embrace. Fenris buried his head against his chest, heart racing, throat closing against a whine he felt trying to break free.

“Fenris... are you alright?” Fenris shook his head, fists clenched against Anders’ robes. He felt pressure in his chest, burning ice in his heart. His body shook with tremors. He didn’t know if it was anger or fear, but he felt it was tearing him apart.

Anders tried to look into his face. “Fenris?”

With a harsh cry, Fenris shoved himself away from Anders. He wrapped his arms around his stomach. He felt his gauntlets against his arms, and suddenly ripped them off. 

“What use is all this, if I can’t even use it when the time comes?” he exclaimed, yanking at the buckles holding his armor on. The whine crawled from his throat as he threw his armor and blade on the floor. “I couldn’t even defend myself... what if he’d seen you, first? Recognized you? What good am I if I can’t protect you?” He looked at Anders in misery. “I fell apart. I didn’t think to activate my lyrium. Didn’t remember my sword....” 

Anders watched the elf as he slowly imploded. His great, green eyes filled with sorrow. His hands flattened protectively over his ears. “I’m supposed to protect you...” he said, helplessly.

He allowed Anders to hold him, then. He buried himself in the mage, hiding his face in shame. He felt Anders walk him to a couch, and pull the elf onto his lap. Anders pressed his lips into the elf’s hair and rubbed his back. 

“I’ve got you, Love. We’re safe, now.” Fenris shook his head. “We are, and you have nothing for which to feel shame.” Fenris shook his head again, and put his fingers against Anders’ lips, stilling them. The mage kissed his fingers, and stayed silent. Fenris wrapped his arms around Anders’ chest, and buried his face in his neck. His mouth opened against the mage’s skin, and he tasted comfort.

Anders sat quietly, and held his elf. 

In time, the door opened, and Dorian stepped through. He noted the elf’s armor and weapon scattered all over the floor. The sight of Fenris taking solace in Anders’ lap surprised him. It had been some months since he had sought comfort.

Anders met his eyes, and continued to slowly rub the elf’s back.

Dorian pulled a chair close. “Nevus?” Anders nodded. “The little shit,” Dorian muttered. “I passed him outside the conference room. Looked in a pique. Are you alright?” Anders nodded.

He spoke softly. “He approached Fenris in the library. He cornered him, touched him. Fernis had a hard time. I dealt with Wallus, but... he’s upset that he wasn’t able to protect us. He’s as disturbed by that as he was by Wallus.” Dorian nodded in understanding.

Fenris’ muffled voice spoke. “Do not speak as though I am not present,” he grumbled.

Anders pressed a kiss against his temple. “Then, join the conversation, Love.”

Fenris shook his head. “There’s nothing to say. I failed you.”

“Stop this, Fenris. You didn’t fail at anything.”

Fenris pulled away from Anders and stood to pace slowly. “I’m supposed to take care of you. The first time trouble crosses my path, I fall apart. What if you’d needed me? I’m supposed to take care of you!”

“Fenris... we take care of each other. I know you end up doing most of the caretaking, but, I can take care of you, too. If I’d been in trouble, you’d have found a way to handle it. This time, you needed me, so I handled it.” Fenris looked at him doubtfully. “It’s what we do. It’s what we’ve always done.”

Fenris scowled, and hung his head. “I don’t want to need to be taken care of.”

“I believe that’s my line. We both have broken pieces in us. Until they mend--or, if they don’t--we’ll just have to take turns playing the gent-in-distress.”

Fenris sat on a hassock, rubbing his ear. “I still feel his touch,” he grumbled. He looked at Anders and sighed. “Fine.... but, I’m not happy about it.”

Anders quirked the corner of his mouth. “You’re sure? Because, I couldn’t tell.”

Dorian finally held up his hands. “Would one of you mind telling me about the squabble with Nevus Wallus?”

Fenris sat next to Anders, again, for the retelling. Anders stroked his fingers along Fenris’ neck while he told the events. As the mages spoke, Fenris lost some of his self-recrimination. He was pleased with how well Anders had handled it. So was Dorian.

“Anders... I’m amazed you were able to find your voice! And, I’m relieved you’ve got so much actual battle experience behind you. You managed yourself, well. What you said was a stroke of brilliance. It’s left me in a very good position for our next move. There is a dinner being held for those at the conference. Would you care to join me? I’ll be speaking with Belus Wallus about some interesting information that’s just landed in my hands.”

“No, thank you,” both replied. 

“I’ll have something sent up, then. Give me the details you have on Nevus.”

Dorian left the room with a wicked gleam in his eye. Shortly after, a tray was sent for both of them. They fed themselves and each other, in their usual fashion.

“Are you alright, Fenris?” Anders asked, softly.

Fenris shrugged. “I suppose. I haven’t felt that way in months. I was completely unprepared for it. We had just discussed it, too. I’m at a loss.”

“He touched you. He stood in front of you and spoke his vile words. Reality always defeats theory. When I saw him there, with you, I had a flash of the past, as well.”

Fenris leaned into the mage, and sighed. Anders circled him with his arms, and tilted the elf’s head up to look at him.

“He will never hurt you, again.” He kissed him, sweetly. “Never again.” He continued kissing him. Fenris felt his unease drift away, held in the arms of his mage, feeling the warmth of his kiss. He felt wonderfully safe, insulated, shored. Anders had protected him. Had left the pig vulnerable with a few spoken words and judicious use of magic. His shame was replaced with pride. Pride in his mage.

Their kiss was slow, chaste, comforting. Anders gently caressed his ears, as though soothing the pain of the past. Fenris’ skin tingled under his touch. Anders pulled from the kiss, whispering against the elf's lips.

"You should never be hurt. You should be worshipped... so beautiful... so perfect." The words, spoken in Anders' loving, soft voice, filled his heart. He sighed contentedly, and took the mage's lips, resuming the kiss. 

Anders' hands continued to caress him, gentle, ghosting over skin, lyrium lines, hair. He traced his arms, his fingers entwining with the elf's. Anders brought his hands up and moved his kiss to Fenris' fingers. Each finger, and his palms, received the adoration of his lips. 

Fenris shivered with the sensations. When Anders began slow, sucking kisses along the lines of his throat, Fenris moaned. The mage, intoxicated by the lyrium and the elf's skin, mouthed hungrily at him. "Fenris," he panted, "If you're still too upset for this...."

Fenris ran his hands into the short, honey hair of the mage. "No... venhedis, no. Please, continue...." 

Anders scooped the elf into his arms and carried him to the bed. He quickly, and gently, divested them of their clothing, and tucked them into the bedding.

Anders continued where he’d left off, and traveled the length of the elf's body with his hands and mouth; kissing and caressing every inch of skin between his head and his toes. 

By the time the mage returned up his body to nuzzle his hard shaft, Fenris was moaning with the sweet sensations coursing through his body. Anders placed small, delicate kisses along his length, a brief swirl of tongue on the dusky head. Fenris twitched, gasping at the soft stimulation. The delicate kisses became sucking ones, the swirl of tongue became broad swipes. Paying close attention to the lyrium lines decorating the elf's shaft, Anders laved the weeping member. 

Fenris moaned with each breath, hands gripped in the bedding. "Anders... please, more...."

The mage gently touched the elf’s entrance. A small burst of magic was followed by the curious sensation of being opened, lubricated. "Are you alright?" Anders asked. Fenris nodded frantically. He was better than alright.

Moving over him, the mage positioned himself. He leaned on his elbows, cradling the elf's head in his hands. Fenris returned his gaze, panting, wanting. "Oh, Love," Anders breathed... and, slid home.

The elf arched his back, legs wrapping Anders' waist. A long, desperate moan broke from his throat. Anders closed his eyes, breathing. Pulling out gently, his hips snapped back in. Both men exclaimed. Anders set such a slow, deep pace, Fenris was floating in a cloud of pleasure. In all of their consensual joinings, Anders had never taken the top role. The elf never pressed him, he was content with everything they shared. This protective, worshipful lovemaking was achingly beautiful. Fenris had never felt such a slow, sweet rise to passion.

He rocked with the mage, the pace making his body frantic with want. He cried out, desperate for more, yet, delighted that the mage wouldn't give it. Anders was hissing with controlled effort, cheek pressed against Fenris'. The elf latched his mouth onto Anders' neck, suckling, licking, holding him close. The mage groaned aloud, fingers curling into Fenris' silky hair. His hips sped up, and both cried out with relief and want.

"Fenris... never pain, again... never..." he rasped into the elf's ear. "Oh, Maker... you feel so good. So close... so perfect."

The elf tossed his head, cries becoming shouts. Anders let go of his control, and rode his passion. He angled himself, and felt the elf bow his back with a shout when he found his sweet spot. Anders pummeled it, voice raised with harsh cries. 

Fenris clung to him, feeling himself drawing close. "Anders... Anders-Maker-Yes-Anders-Yes...." With sudden, blinding rapture, the elf crested, body convulsing with pleasure. Anders held him tightly, his body teetering on the edge... then falling over.

With hoarse cries, he spilled himself inside Fenris' body, hips making deep, hard, final thrusts. "Fenris... sweet Fenris...." He collapsed against the elf, burying his face in his neck. 

Fenris basked in a tremendous after-glow. He felt utterly cherished. Anders always touched him lovingly, treated him with devoted adoration. But, this had felt so protective, so completely reverent.... He nuzzled against Anders, tickling his ear, making him chortle. 

“My beautiful elf,” Anders murmured, nuzzling the pointed ear, in return. “I love you, sweet Fenris.”

Fenris smiled. “I love you, my mage. I’m so proud of you. I can’t believe you spoke to a stranger. I wish it could have been someone other than it was.” 

Anders glowed with the elf’s praise. Then, he sighed. “I suppose we should dress before Dorian returns. As big a fan as I am of compromising positions, he’s met us with our skirts up once too many.”

When the mage in question returned, he was bright-eyed and grinning. “Let’s get to the carriage. I’ll tell you all about it during the drive home.”

Long story short, the elder Wallus was greatly displeased with his youngest son’s activities. Dorian’s spin on the circumstances, and his knowledge of names and events, were convincing. Like most bullies, Nevus was a coward. He didn’t try to defend himself, and, gracefully as a roach like him could, he accepted his father’s censure. He was no longer Belus’ heir.

“I’m afraid you’ve made a bit of an enemy of Nevus Wallus,” Dorian said.

Fenris sneered, “He made himself an enemy of ours years ago.”

“Belus is interested in the names of any others who attended Danarius’ parties,” Dorian offered. “Those are the kind of people who would resist our sort of reform, vehemently.”

Anders sighed. “I don’t want to think about it.” Fenris took his hand.

“I can tell you several. Does Belus know where you’re getting this information?”

“He knows it’s from a slave formerly owned by Danarius. It would neither gain you, nor lose you, anything should he know more. Belus was appalled. You have his sympathy.”

Fenris grunted. “We’ll talk about it, later. We’ve had enough memories, today.”

For all the trauma and drama they had found while at the Circle, the library had provided Anders with much needed clues to his research. Lyrium dependency and delirium were reportedly caused by the build-up of lyrium waste-product in the body. Certain aspects of lyrium could not be metabolized, nor excreted, by a non-magical being. The more of these waste products, the more the body wanted lyrium to offset the balance. Throughout the ages, mages of the Imperium had made heavy use of lyrium for power. They had, occasionally, utilized so much lyrium that their bodies could not manage the build-up. A potion had been developed to cleanse the body of these. It was little known, now, unfortunately. Blood magic was more commonly deployed than huge amounts of lyrium. 

He conferred with Dorian. Between them, they concluded the potion would not be harmful to a non-mage. However, for a short period, the recipient would be quite ill, as the body was flushed of lyrium waste. 

The three men visited an apothecary in the city. Anders had hoped to discuss the potion, himself. The familiar feeling of his throat closing-up hit as soon as he approached the counter. Dorian commissioned the potion. The apothecary also confirmed that it would be harmless to a non-mage. It would be ready in a few days.

His disappointment with his continued inability to speak to an outsider was outweighed by his thrill that he may have found a cure for Cullen’s lyrium withdrawal. Eve had been their savior, alongside Dorian. She’d brought them back to health, and guided them through much of their emotional maze. If Anders could make her life any happier, he would try. Helping her new husband might just do that; if Cullen was willing to take the potion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fenris hides his fears well, but they're still there. Going 'live' is harder than we think.
> 
> And, sometimes, we find strength for others that we can't for ourselves.
> 
> I'm basing the lyrium properties off of various drugs and such, plus my own assumptions.
> 
>  
> 
> to be continued....


	16. Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> House Pavus hosts some unconventional guests.

Anders and Fenris had created a new game. It was very challenging and very little fun. 

The goal: to get as far from each other as possible, for as long as possible. It was terrifying. On the park-like grounds,they were at relative ease even at far shouting-distance. Eyesight seemed to be the determining factor. The moment one rounded a corner, or closed a door between them, it was a different story. Talking to one another in those cases helped, but sooner, rather than later, one or the other broke into a sweat and found the other. 

In spite of the discomfort they felt, they practiced this multiple times daily. Fenris wasn’t as invested in the idea as Anders. He felt they were stronger together, and he had no desire to be away from the mage. He would be the last to admit it, but the elf suffered the anxiety of separation more acutely than Anders. Despite his initial failing with Nevus Wallus, Fenris wanted Anders where he could protect him. Ever since the Spiritu Dispus potion, the elf felt heart-stopping terror at the barest thought of anything taking the mage from him. His worst nightmares revolved around that experience. Still, the elf was willing to go through the separation exercises. Neither could deny that the anxiety could become inconvenient. Right now, their life was simple, and it was easy to move in tandem through the world. Later, they didn’t know what might come. 

They stood in the open-doored entry of the House, preparing for their next trial. Fenris cocked his head, suddenly, listening. Anders heard it, then. A distant sound of voices carried through the warm air.

“... a tavern with loose cards and looser skirts!”

They looked at each other, perplexed. Anders spoke. “What in Andraste’s knickers is that?” A sudden thudding of footsteps tore down the stairs, and Dorian skidded to a stop as he rounded the corner and saw them there. He was grinning ear-to-ear. 

“Our guests have arrived.” He grabbed both their shoulders, and marched them onto the wide veranda. Far down the road, a large, enclosed carriage could be seen. A half-dozen figures were visible, riding on the roof of the carriage, laughing and singing. In the driver’s seat, feet on the footboard, huge hands holding the reigns, was an immense Qunari. Dorian spoke proudly, “That’s The Iron Bull.”

Watching as the carriage approached, Fenris was fascinated by Bull. He’d seen many qunari, both in Seheron and in KIrkwall. Iron Bull was unlike any of them. True, he was Tal-Vashoth, but he was also unique. Even for a qunari, he was big. His horns went straight out the sides, then curved up, and spanned his shoulder-width. As they drew closer, Fenris saw a patch over one eye. 

When the passengers caught sight of the trio on the veranda, they broke into cheers and catcalls, calling to Dorian, and teasing Bull. Anders and Fenris looked at Dorian. He was bouncing on his toes, expression eager. 

The carriage pulled in front of them, and Bull jumped off the driver’s seat; rather, he took a long step. Fenris thought he must top seven feet. 

“Kadan!” He bellowed, and swept Dorian into an embrace that lifted him clean off the ground. Dorian grinned, hands gripping the great horns.

“Amatus... you took your sweet time getting here,” he muttered, happily.

“I’ll make the wait worth your while, big guy,” Bull promised, and then consumed Dorian in a very passionate kiss.

Fenris felt his jaw drop. He saw Anders’ had, as well. The crew on the carriage, whom Fenris decided must be the Chargers, burst into more whistles and catcalls. When Bull finally lowered Dorian to the ground, the mage was flushed and ecstatic. He turned to Fenris and Anders with a wink. 

Fenris watched the Chargers leaping, climbing and falling from their high perch. Then, his view was blocked by a chest. His head tilted up, and met the single eye of The Iron Bull. He felt himself scrutinized by the Tal-Vashoth, then the mountain of a man spoke.

“Boss told me about you two. You’ve got to be Fenris. Lyrium’s a dead give-away.”

“It has that disadvantage,” he replied.

Bull’s gaze turned to Anders. The mage’s eyes grew wide, and he shifted further behind Fenris.

“That makes you Anders. Only mage in the country with the sense to keep his mouth shut. Chargers!”

The crew shouted “Horns Up!” They were pulling luggage from the roof and tailgate of the carriage.

“Give the quiet Vint his space.”

“Aye, Chief,” came the reply. The one who replied pounded on the carriage door, then opened it. Anders lost his timidity when Eve stepped out. He sprinted to lift her off of the step, and spun her away in a tight embrace.

Eve laughed, returning his hug. “Anders! You’re hugging me! Dorian’s told how well you’re both doing. I missed all of you.” Anders set her down, and took her left arm in his hands. 

“I’m so sorry, Eve. Do you have pain?” He ran his hand down to the stump below her elbow.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll tell you more about it, later.” She looked him appraisingly. “You look so good, Anders. Healthy, strong.”

She was then taken into Fenris’ arms for a hug. As Anders smiled at them, a familiar face approached from behind her. Anders hadn’t seen Cullen in years. Looking at him with a healer’s eye, he saw the signs of lyrium withdrawal. Fatigue, chronic discomfort, slight furrow of the brow denoting a headache. Cullen was looking on while Eve spoke with Fenris. His eyes shone with adoration and a smile played at the edges of his lips. Anders felt relief at that.

“Fenris, I believe you’ve already met Cullen.” Cullen offered his hand, and Fenris took it in greeting.

“It’s been awhile,” the elf replied.

“Yes. It has.” Cullen’s eyes moved from Fenris to Anders. “Anders. I’m pleased to see you.” Anders ducked his head, and reached for Fenris’ hand.

Servants had come out to show the guests to their rooms and help carry luggage. 

Bull had the back of Dorian’s neck in his great hand, and didn’t seem inclined to let it go. Dorian called to them, and they moved away from Eve and Cullen.

“Would you mind escorting Eve and her new mate to her suite? They both look a bit peaked. The Chargers are going in the far guest wing, staff will show them. Do you feel you can manage dinner with everyone in the main dining hall, or would you rather stay in your room?” They exchanged a glance. 

“We’ll try it and see,” Fenris replied.

Dorian was grinning hugely. “Excellent. Everyone’s going to rest a bit before we eat.” Bull laughed, and shook Dorian lightly by the scruff. 

“You won’t be resting, Kadan.”

“Quit shaking me, you big lummox. You’ll give me whiplash.” Despite his words, Dorian’s eyes couldn’t possibly have glowed more brightly.

Eve chuckled as they walked with her up the stairs. “I know the way to my rooms. I hardly need an escort.” Cullen walked beside her with an arm about her shoulders. He looked about the estate with interest. 

“I think it was for me, Eve,” Anders replied. “There’s a lot going on.”

Cullen chuckled. “Yes. The Chargers always seem to have a lot going on. Loudly.”

“I kept a silencing spell on the carriage, most of the way. I’ve always admired their energy, but it can induce quite a headache.”

“I’ve never been so grateful for magic,” Cullen admitted. Anders’ neck nearly snapped as his head turned to stare at him. Cullen caught the look, and smirked. “Even a Templar can change its spots, Anders. You know I’ve left the order?” Anders ducked his head, again, and moved back a step. Fenris took his hand.

Leaving Eve and Cullen at their suite, Fenris and Anders made for theirs, and fell against each other.

“My ears hurt,” Anders whined.

Fenris chuckled, but nodded. “They’re an energetic bunch, as Eve said. Really, are they any worse than our Wicked Grace nights at the Hanged Man?”

Anders tried to remember. “I’m not sure. Does that seem as long ago for you, as it does for me?” Fenris stroked the golden hair.

“I don’t think so. There’s some things you don’t remember as well as I, my mage. It’s like the Spiritu potion burned tiny, random holes throughout your memory.”

Anders looked at him with admiration. “You described it perfectly. That’s just how it feels. I remember Cullen. From Kirkwall, more than the Circle. The Circle was so long ago.”

They relaxed for a bit. Anders wondered when and how to discuss the lyrium addiction potion with Eve. He couldn’t bring it up with Cullen, after all. His thoughts were interrupted by loud pounding through the wall, and then, muted voices raised in passion. Both he and Fenris turned toward their bedroom. A shared wall, indeed. Apparently, Bull and Dorian were having a very enthusiastic reunion.

“We can always sleep in a hammock in the inner courtyard,” Fenris suggested.

Anders smirked. “We could start a competition. Bet they can’t beat four times.”

Fenris tilted his head. “I’ve heard about Qunari tamassrans. Bull might be able to.”

Dinner was less boisterous than the arrival of their guests had been. Eve and Fenris assured Anders sat between them. The Chargers were introduced around. There were actually nearly fifty members in Bull’s mercenary company, but his closest unit were these six. 

Cremisius Aclassi, Krem, was Bull’s second-in-command. The others, who were quickly introduced, were: Skinner, Stitches, Grim, Dalish and Rocky. Anders bit back a chuckle when Dalish identified herself as a ‘backup archer’. He could feel her magic energy from across the table. Fenris was sure a less conventional dinner party had never been seen in this dining hall.

There was a plate at every setting, so Anders and Fenris simply ate off of both plates, indiscriminately. Making his way through a pile of green peas, Anders chatted with Eve, expressing his pleasure at her forwarding of Varric’s letter. Cullen’s voice spoke his name.

“You used to hate green peas,” he observed. Anders’ brows went up. He looked at the tiny, round vegetables. Had he? How in the world would Cullen know that? 

Cullen quirked a grin. “You concocted a song about peas, and how they were a blighted curse on Thedas. Sang it around the Circle for weeks.”

Anders gazed at Cullen, perplexed. He started to hear a repetitive song in his head. He found a memory of himself, barely a young man. Just before his last flight from Kinloch Hold. Each spring, the Hold served green peas for lunch and supper, every day, for months. He couldn’t stand the things. He had crafted a ridiculous song about the evils of green peas, and belted it loudly as often as he could get away with. He grinned. 

Cullen smirked. “It was stuck in my head for a very long time, up until-- well, it was a very bad song.”

Fenris chuckled. “How did it go?” he asked Anders.

Anders shook his head. “You don’t want to hear it. It truly was a very bad song.”

Bull’s voice rang out. “Bad song? Oh, we can beat any bad song, any day. How about it, Chargers?” The Chargers launched into a very bad, very raunchy song about a man from Orlais. Dorian moaned. 

“Oh, you would get them started, wouldn’t you?”

The three couples turned-in early. The Chargers were inviting House staff to join their festivities by the time Fenris and Anders made it out of the dining hall. 

Fenris was very happy. Anders had been at relative ease with the noise and new people. He hadn’t needed to leave, nor find comfort any greater than holding Fenris’ hand. He’d even looked Cullen in the face as the ex-Templar teased a memory from the mage. 

The elf herded Anders into their bed chamber, and crowded him onto the bed. The mage smiled up at him, burying his hands in the silky, white hair. Fenris kissed him deeply. “So, mage, shall we start that contest with Dorian and Bull?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This seems like a quick chapter, but there's more to come. 
> 
>  
> 
> to be continued.


	17. Idyll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders and Fenris get to know their guests.
> 
> Anders finds a friend.

With the morning’s first light, Fenris and Anders were in the garden. Finding their bench by the pond, they turned their faces to the sun and basked like lizards. They’d spent enough time in the garden, under the Tevinter sun, that Anders was taking on color. Fenris was enchanted by the freckles that were now scattered across his cheeks.

They were a bit sleepy, yet. The Iron Bull had, apparently, made Dorian’s wait worth his while. 

“Anders.”

“Hm.”

“You once said that you had never been beaten or raped by Templars. Is that true?”

“Yes. I was lucky. Until Danarius.”

“But, it happens?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Was Cullen like that?”

Anders thought into the misty past. “No. He was devout. He was young. Perhaps younger than I. He’d been there a year, maybe, before the last time I ran.” He thought some more. “I don’t remember any mages in Kirkwall talking about him, either. And, I heard the stories. I think he’s a decent guy... for a Templar.”

“Can I assume that remark is about me?” Cullen’s voice sounded behind them. He and Eve were approaching the bench. “Given I’m the only ex-Templar on the estate, that is.”

Anders scooted into Fenris’ side. “I was asking Anders about your reputation. You served in Kirkwall, after all.” Anders and Eve both looked at Fenris with surprise. “You’re going to spend your life with a woman for whom I care. It’s fair to ask.”

Eve smiled warmly, and reached to squeeze the elf’s hand. Cullen frowned.

“I suppose it is. Things at the Gallows did become bleak. I hope that I am ‘a decent guy’.”

Eve put her arm back around his waist. “You’re the best guy, Cullen. Fenris has a heavy protective streak in him.” They joined them on the bench. Anders reached for Eve’s left arm. She lifted her stump for him as he ran his fingers over the skin. It was smooth, with no scarring.

“How did this happen?”

“Solas, the elven mage? I caught up with him. There’s more to him than we ever knew. But, the Mark was killing me. He removed the affected part of my arm, before it could spread further.”

“With magic? That’s incredible.” He released her arm. “You seem remarkably at peace with it.”

Eve gave a small huff. “I’ve got the future on my mind. And, Cullen.” She looked up at the man next to her, who gave her a soft smile. “Dorian’s kept me up on activities around here. I’m so happy for how things are going for you both. There was a time, I wasn’t sure....”

“You and us, both,” Fenris agreed. “It’s still hard, sometimes,” he said quietly.

Anders sighed. “Some things will always be hard,” he added, softly.

Cullen gave a small grunt. “Truer words were never spoken.” Anders watched him. There was something painful under that statement. 

“Come back to our suite with us. I have some things for you.”

They had been in her suite, many times. It was odd to see Cullen’s belongings amongst hers, their clothing intermingled. Cullen dug under a pile of luggage, and pulled out a box, and a long, wrapped object.

“Varric had these sent to the Winter Palace, when he learned you were here,” Eve said. “I thought it better to bring them, than for them to show up, here, unexpected.”

Cullen placed the long package in Anders’ hands. Looking at Eve quizzically, he tore off the wrapping. A staff emerged. With a golden statue of a winged woman on the headpiece. His eyes went wide, and jaw dropped.

“It’s your staff,” Fenris said in surprise. A dozen different memories went through his head. Through Anders’ head, as well, judging by the look on his face. “Alright?” Anders nodded.

As Fenris opened the box, Eve explained. “Varric gathered both your belongings, after you’d left. He hoped you’d return, eventually. He thought you might like your things.”

The first thing out of the box was a book. ‘The Book of Shartan’. Fenris ran his hand over the cover. 

“My first book. Hawke taught me to read with this.” He couldn’t believe how loaded this single object was. When Hawke was still his friend. A time when he would never have betrayed him. A time he had cared. Fenris rubbed his face, putting the memories away, for later.

Anders pulled out another book. It was the mage’s old journal. He flipped through it, seeing his own script. Writings, sketches, herbs pressed between pages. When Anders closed it, he handed it to Fenris. The elf immediately opened it, and started to read.

Cullen’s hesitant voice asked, “... aren’t journals, usually... private?...” 

Anders and Fenris chuckled. Eve smiled at them, and spoke to Cullen. “Consider them one, dearest.”

While Fenris looked through the journal, Anders reached into the box, again. A pillow came up in his hand. Old, with faded embroidery, much loved; the mage gazed at it in disbelief. Fenris watched him closely. He could almost see images passing through the mage’s mind. Tears filled Anders’ eyes and overflowed. He buried his face in the pillow, sniffling. Fenris rubbed his shoulders, and whispered in his ear, “Good tears?” Anders nodded, keeping his face hidden. 

Fenris glanced at Cullen and Eve. Both seemed moved, and kept a respectful quiet. Fenris didn’t know the significance of the pillow, but it was obviously great.

More books were in the box, a few quills, and a Tevinter Chantry amulet. Neither man had had many possessions in Kirkwall. The few they’d had, were meaningful.

Bull and Dorian emerged from Dorian’s suite before lunch. Both wore expressions of supreme satisfaction. The Chargers had also slept in. Apparently, the party had gone into the wee hours. Several House staff were yawning, as well. 

“Kadan, you’re keeping us in a style to which we’re unaccustomed. We like it.”

Dorian laughed. “I’m sure. Life on the road getting old, Amatus?”

“Never. Always something new to see, someone new to kill. Nice to get a hot bath. And, a hot bed partner.”

“The things you say. How long will you stay?”

“A week or two. We’re pretty far across the border, but the Boss needs time to do whatever she’s gotta do. And, I need time to do you. So....”

“Such a way with words.”

Anders and Fenris looked at each other and snickered. Bull pinned them with his eye, humor written all over him. 

“That wall has two sides, fellas--don’t think we couldn’t hear you, last night. Quiet blonde-haired Vint’s a regular chatterbox when he thinks no one’s listening.”

Fenris laughed out loud. Anders blushed, but couldn’t help laughing. While they hadn’t tried to contest Bull and Dorian’s personal quest; Fenris had been happy to provide Anders with a single, energetic performance. 

The whole party moved onto the grounds. Staff and Chargers brought out chairs and sofas to set in the grassy clearing near the pond. It looked like a huge sitting room had sprung up among the flowering shrubs and trees surrounding the clearing. The Chargers outlined a make-shift sparring-ring, and began challenging each other to bouts and wrestling matches. 

Fenris claimed a love seat for he and Anders, and pulled the mage next to him. Anders was nuzzling into his cheek. Fenris kissed him happily. “Tell me about the pillow,” he murmured in Anders’ ear. Anders smiled.

“My mother made it. It was the only thing I was allowed to take with me to the Circle. I carried it with me on every escape, on Grey Warden missions, across the Waking Sea to Kirkwall. I can’t imagine how I’d forgotten about it. I’m glad to have it back.”

Fenris understood. If he’d had something to remember his mother by, he’d be overjoyed to find it, again.

Then, a thought occurred to him. A thought he couldn’t believe had not occurred to him, before. A thought he knew he wouldn’t be able to forget, now he’d had it. 

Anders touched his face. “What is it?”

“Varania.” 

“Your sister. Holy flames, Fenris... what happened to her?”

Fenris shook his head. “She said Danarius would make her his apprentice. He had no apprentice while we were there. Did you see her, that first year?”

Anders shook his head. “Maybe he changed his mind. Maybe he lied to her. Maybe he left her in Kirkwall.”

Fenris’ brows drew together. “Maybe she’s here, in Tevinter.”

“Alright?” Anders asked, softly.

“Yes. I’ll think on this, later.” He would tuck it away, for now. Anders sat comfortably against his side, his family of mages was together, and boisterous distraction was played-out in the beautiful grounds of their estate. Nothing would detract from that.

It was an enjoyable afternoon, watching the Chargers and Bull spar one another. It was just as enjoyable watching Dorian and Bull spar with compliments and faux insults. The affection between them was clear. 

“What’s ‘amatus’ and ‘kadan’?” Anders asked Fenris.

“‘Amatus’ is Arcanum for ‘love’ or ‘loved one'. Kadan is Qunlat for ‘where the heart lies’.”

“Wow. They’re really serious about each other.” He’d never seen Dorian so demonstrative. He wasn’t as at ease with displays of affection as Bull seemed to be. But, he had no qualms accepting those that Bull made toward him. For such a giant wall of muscle, the Tal-Vashoth could be incredibly tender.

“It would appear so.”

Krem wandered over to their pool of shade, and sat on the grass. He and Fenris began talking. Krem was Tevinter, a fact Bull used as fodder for playful banter. Anders realized Fenris was sounding-out Krem for information on Bull. He was looking after Dorian by learning what sort of man his paramour was. Anders was pleased at that. It became clear that Bull could do no wrong, in Krem’s eyes. 

After a bit, Anders gestured to Fenris, who nodded. The mage stood and wandered toward the pond. Making frequent glances back at the the elf, he skipped some stones across the water. He heard footsteps coming his way, too heavy to be Fenris. He was surprised to see it was Cullen who approached.

“I just need to get away from the noise. If I go off on my own, Eve will come after me. I don’t want to pull her from everything just because I’m mildly antisocial.”

Anders understood completely. He didn’t answer; he simply turned back to skipping stones. He glanced at Fenris, and saw the elf watching him. He smiled and gave him a wave. Fenris returned both, and watched Cullen a moment. He turned and resumed talking with Krem.

He and Cullen skipped stones in easy quiet. 

A pattern to their days evolved quickly. Varying parties awoke at varying times. Lunch. Out to the grounds. Dinner. A party, large or small.

Although Anders wasn’t carrying on much conversation, he enjoyed listening. He joined Fenris, Dorian or Eve, and acted as a sort of spectator. Cullen often took a backseat to the activities, as well. Anders thought it made sense. As a Templar for most of his life, Cullen likely grew accustomed to being a quiet observer. 

Dorian brought a chess board out to their activities area. A table and chairs appeared in the shade close to the pond. He and Cullen sat at the board, jibes passing between them as the game played. Eve told Anders and Fenris that they’d begun a habit of the game in the garden at Skyhold. The comments and accusations were part of their routine.

Anders was skipping stones, again. Dorian had just bested Cullen at chess, and was now playing against Eve. Anders turned to see Fenris talking with Bull and Krem, rather animatedly. As though he felt Anders’ gaze, the elf turned and smiled at the mage. Anders smiled in return, filled with happiness that Fenris was so ebullient.

Cullen approached as he watched his elf. Anders looked at him from the corner of his eye. The ex-Templar bent to search for pebbles, and began skipping them across the pond. He looked better rested after a few days away from travel, and a comfortable bed. Until they arrived at the estate, Anders had never seen the man without Templar armor. He was just as brawny in appearance, wearing simple breeches and a light tunic. His blonde hair was less curly than it had been. He must do something to achieve that.

Cullen turned slightly, returning Anders’ sideways gaze. “Anders?”

Anders gave a small smile, and ducked his head. He threw some stones.

He moved along the shore of the pond, searching for more pebbles, and spotted a grey bit of fur under a leafy shrub. He moved the leaves and saw it was a kitten. He thought it was dead, at first, and his breathing hitched. Then, he saw the movement of its ribs. Its nose and eyes were running. He realized it had been abandoned by the mother, probably because it was ill.

Cullen’s voice was at his shoulder. “Is it alive?”

Anders carefully picked it up. It looked about four or five weeks old. 

“Can you heal it?”

Anders pulled-up healing energy, and trickled it into the tiny creature. After a few moments, it tried to roll to its belly in his hands. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and cleaned its nose and eyes. It gave a small, indignant squall, and both men chuckled. 

Fenris suddenly appeared beside him. He’d seen Anders curled over in the shrubs, and became worried. 

Fenris looked at the little ball of fur in the mage’s hands, then looked carefully at Anders. The mage seemed steady. “Are you alright?”

“Yes. It’s alive. It was abandoned. I need to get back to the House, for a dropper and milk.”

“Alright.” Fenris pulled Anders against him and walked him back to the kitchen and then the infirmary. 

It took some spilled milk and messy whiskers, but the kitten caught on to drinking from the dropper. Fenris watched Anders tending the kitten. The mage gazed at the little cat with a peculiar sort of adoration. Fenris had never had a pet. In less than a half-hour, Anders was clearly in love with this furry little creature. 

Fenris put his arm about the mage’s shoulders, and kissed his temple. “So, we have a cat.”

Anders smiled at him with bemused joy. “You don’t mind?”

“How can I see your happiness, and mind? I have never had a pet. I don’t know what happens, now.”

“We need a sandbox. Bowls for food and water; it’s old enough to start weaning to soft food. I’ll make up flea-repellent potions.”

“What will you call it?” The kitten was now curled in the crook of Anders’ elbow, against his ribs.

“A name will come, in time,” the mage said, dreamily. “It’s a girl. A little grey tabby. I like tabbies.”

The kitten went everywhere with Anders. He fashioned a pouch to wear around his waist, that she could snuggle into. He was endlessly patient with her. As he was with everything, Fenris thought. He taught her to use the sand box. He began transitioning her to soft foods. He stroked and talked to her, continuously.

The first time Anders took the tiny thing, and placed it gently on Fenris’ chest, the elf had been afraid to touch it. Lying in bed, he watched as she padded her way up his bare chest to investigate Fenris’ face. As it tried to pull itself over his chin, Fenris puffed air to get the fur out of his mouth. Tickled by the air, the kitten danced up on her hind legs and then rolled off into the hollow of his neck and shoulder. Anders laughed, and reached for it, but Fenris waved him off. Tentatively, he reached a hand to stroke the chubby kitten. Curling into her new-found nest, she fell asleep. 

Anders lay beside him, cuddled into his other shoulder. "What are you going to do about Varania?"

Fenris closed his eyes. "I don't know. She betrayed me. She handed me over to Danarius as much as Hawke did. I would have given her everything. Anything. But, now...." He shook his head. "What would be the use?" 

"Maybe he made her do it. He would have had her watched, don't you think?"

"Maybe. Dorian might know how we could find if she's in Tevinter." The kitten woke then, and dug tiny claws into the elf's shoulder to climb back up to his chest. "Gahhh... that smarts. She's a little tigris."

Anders beamed. "That's her name. Tigris."

Fenris lifted her up onto his chest, where they both pet her round, furry body. "It suits her."

Anders brought Tigris with him when the group made their way to the grounds each afternoon. The members of the group varied slightly, day to day. The Chargers were a tight group, and burst into singing their anthem, or other songs, frequently. 

When Bull took on three of his men in a sparring match, both Anders and Fenris were impressed. They’d both fought Qunari and Tal-vashoth. Bull was like neither. Fenris decided it was due to his being Ben-hassrath, and less-regimented in his weapon and technique. When the match was concluded, Bull turned to Fenris. 

“Hey... Fenris. Show us how that lyrium works.” With Anders urging him on, he approached the huge man. The Chargers all shouted, “Horns up!” as he drew near. Fenris had assessed Bull during his spar. He was fast, he had brute strength, and he left himself open, low on his blind side. As fast as he was, however, his massive hammer was slow to bring around.

Bull took a defensive stance, and Fenris pulled his blade. He lit his lyrium, and the Chargers ooh’d and then cheered. The elf smirked, and lost himself in the dance of two warriors. It was a well-matched scrimmage. Fenris blurred across the impromptu ring, power burst, and made his blade dance in a way Bull’s giant hammer simply could not.

The match ended with a feint to Bull’s blind side, going low under the swinging hammer, and putting his phased hand into Bull’s chest. Bull stood stock-still, looking down at the not-quite-there arm partially buried in his torso. The giant man spoke.

“That... is fucking awesome!” 

Fenris smirked, and removed his hand harmlessly. His lyrium flickered out. 

“So what would you do, then? Rip out my heart?”

“That’s usually how that ends.” The elf swung his blade onto his back. Bull was grinning at Fenris with frank admiration. 

“I’ve actually heard about you, years ago.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. Came out in a missive. Some Vint asshole had made a lyrium-powered warrior. When no more like you surfaced, the ones in charge of decisions decided it wasn’t a threat. So, you dropped off our BOLO list.”

Fenris shrugged. “I’m the only one that lived.”

“Lucky thing. You’re alright, Fenris. So’s Chatterbox. Rescuing kittens... that’s just not something you expect from a Vint mage.”

Dorian was indignant. “Just what do you imagine I would do to a kitten? Saute it in wine?”

Bull roared with laughter. “You, eating pussy? That, I’d like to see!” The entire gathered party laughed as well.

Dorian looked ill. Whether from the coarse joke, or the image, was uncertain. “I hate you.”

Bull sat down and pulled Dorian onto his lap. “No, you don’t.”

Dorian snuggled into his expanse of chest. “No, I don’t. I should. But, I don’t.”

Fenris made his way back to Anders. Tigris was bounding in round-bellied cuteness about the grass. She made her way from one person to the next, receiving various receptions. Krem was the most likely to pick her up and let her crawl all over him. As the elf strode past, he scooped her off the lawn and sat with her on his lap. Anders watched with a bemused grin as the white-haired warrior tickled her belly.

Not quite a week after arriving, Eve wanted to make a run into the city to take care of a few details and buy a few items before they left. Cullen wasn’t feeling well, so Dorian accompanied her. The ex-Templar emerged from their suite after lunch, and came out to the pond. Anders was watching Fenris spar with some of the Chargers. Cullen quietly sat beside him on the loveseat.

Anders looked at him. He didn’t look well. Cullen was obviously trying to hide his discomfort, but Anders had been a healer too long to be fooled. It was more than fatigue or body aches. More than a headache. 

Cullen turned tiredly to face him, and for once, Anders didn’t feel the urge to look away. Cullen’s eyes were red with exhaustion. A muscle twitched in his cheek. He looked... haunted.

“Something on your mind?” Cullen asked, quietly.

“It’s not just lyrium withdrawal, is it?” he surprised himself by asking..

Cullen was surprised, too. “Ah... no.” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking down at the kitten crawling into his lap. She settled onto his legs and curled up.

Cullen sighed. “You weren’t at the Circle when Uldred took over.”

“No.”

“Did you hear what happened, there?

“Yes.”

Cullen sighed. “I was imprisoned for days. I was the only surviving Templar in the tower.” His jaw clenched. “Blood mages... demons. They’re not gone, not really. They follow me, tormenting my dreams.”

“I’m sorry.”

Cullen took a deep breath, and let it out. “Eve told me a little of your story. Your demon was a madman. I’m sorry, as well.”

Anders ducked his head. He thought a while. “I have a cure for lyrium withdrawal.”

Cullen’s head snapped up. “You what??”

“I have a potion that will cure your lyrium withdrawal.”

Cullen gazed at him in disbelief. “How?”

“I found it. For you. If you want it.”

“Maker’s breath.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always felt Cullen and Anders have a commonality in this story. Both have had their minds assaulted. I've always found Inquisition's Cullen to be very mild and soothing. 
> 
> I'm not sure why, but I like Krem and Fenris as friends. 
> 
> Bull got a little crude in this one, but I laughed my butt off.


	18. Lyrium Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen learns about Anders' potion.
> 
> Anders expands his world a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's a bit Cullen-centric.

Cullen stared at Anders so intently, and for so long, the mage ducked his head, again. He wasn’t sure if the man was angry, or offended, but neither one would bode well for Anders, he was sure.

Cullen’s hand was suddenly on his shoulder. He jerked himself into the corner of the loveseat. “...no....”

Cullen pulled his hand back, lifting both slightly. “I’m not going to hurt you... I just....” 

Anders badly wanted to leave, but Tigris was still on Cullen’s lap. He wouldn’t leave her behind. It was his fault. He’d upset the man. He didn't really think Cullen would hurt him, but he couldn't stop the strong desire to put distance between them. 

Anders was yanked up into Fenris’ arms. 

Fenris had exited the ring in time to see Cullen glaring at Anders, then grabbing him. The elf didn’t want to jump to conclusions--this was Eve’s husband. But, seeing Anders jerk away and cower in the corner... it was not to be borne.

“Why did you touch him?” He tried to keep his voice calm, but he was fresh from a fight, and felt overwhelmingly protective. Cullen stayed where he was, clearly dismayed by the turn of events. Fenris’ blade was on his back, but the elf looked angry.

Anders was speaking softly in his ear. “It was my fault. I told him about the lyrium withdrawal potion. It upset him. I shouldn’t have spoken to him.”

Fenris’ jaw dropped. “You told him? You spoke to Cullen?” Anders nodded, his face buried against Fenris’ shoulder. Fenris addressed Cullen, again.

“He found courage to speak to you, and you grabbed at him? I thought Eve had explained about this.”

Cullen was nodding. “She did. I was just so thrown. Anders, I’m sorry. I simply couldn’t believe....” His face dropped. He looked down at the kitten on his lap. He picked her up and held her out to Fenris. Fenris took her, and tucked her into the pouch hanging at Anders’ hip. 

He pulled Anders away with him, and walked him to the pond. He felt Anders’ mouth open against his throat. “It’s alright. He didn’t mean anything. Cullen’s not going to hurt you. You know that?” 

He felt Anders nod. He turned his head, and saw Bull was talking to Cullen. Well, that could prove interesting. He caressed the short blonde hair. “You talked to Cullen. That’s big. Maybe, in the future, first contacts should be about the weather, or kittens. Something other than life-changing revelations that over-excite people.”

Anders chuckled against his throat. His mouth left the elf’s skin, and moved to his lips, instead. A very heated kiss ensued. Fenris wasn’t surprised this was turning amorous. It was becoming their pattern, after one of them needed comfort. 

However, Fenris had had enough of public performances, for their lifetime. He gently disengaged from Anders. 

“Soon, my mage. Let’s go talk to Cullen. I think you scared him as much as he did you.”

“I’m sorry I made a scene,” Anders said as they walked back toward the gathering space.

“You didn’t make a scene. I think I have that distinction.”

Cullen was gone when they returned to the clearing.

“He was pretty upset about scaring Chatterbox,” Bull explained. “Cullen takes things to heart. For being the commander of forces, he’s really a softie. Maybe you can talk to the big guy, make him feel better.”

As they walked back to the house-proper, Anders pondered the situation. “How do I make someone feel better? I’m just hoping my throat doesn’t close-up when we get there.”

“You always make me feel better.”

“Thank you, love. But, unless he plans to sit in my lap and give me a love bite on the neck, I’m at a loss.”

Fenris chuckled. “Let him know that you don’t fear him. Tell him you still wish to help him.”

Arriving at Eve and Cullen’s suite, they knocked gently on the door. At Cullen’s summons, they entered.

He was sitting up from lying on the couch. Anders felt even worse for his panicked reaction, looking at the man. He was truly suffering.

“Anders, forgive me. I feel badly for startling you. I wasn’t angry. I was... excited. You don’t know what the past several years have been like.”

Fenris didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Didn’t know what the past several years had been like.... 

The elf replied, evenly. “We know what our past several years have been like. Which is why some things are so hard for us. You did nothing wrong... just ill-advised.”

Cullen sighed, gesturing to the chairs in front of them. “You meant it, though? About the potion?” He looked beseechingly at Anders.

Anders throat threatened to close. He swallowed. He finally nodded.

“What is it? It’s not blood magic, is it?”

Anders felt Fenris start to puff-up, and put a calming hand on his arm. After what Cullen had told him, he understood his knee-jerk suspicion. Anders shook his head. He cleared his throat. Holding Fenris’ hand tightly, he spoke.

“It’s not blood magic. It’s just very old.”

“What would I need to do?” Cullen looked like he was going to burst.

“Take it. Spend a day or less ill. Go on living.”

Cullen’s hands covered his face. When he pulled them away, he was wiping moisture from his eyes. He sniffed. “I’ll wait until we’ve discussed it with Eve. Maker’s mercy. I feel like a dying man, offered life.”

They left him to rest until Eve returned. Anders pulled Fenris into their suite, and let Tigris run loose. 

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” Fenris asked.

“The potion? Yes. I researched it. I am a healer, after all.” He was somewhat indignant.

Fenris shook his head, smiling. “No, not that. What you’re truly doing for Cullen. You’ve just given a man hope where there had been none.”

Anders thought about it. “I suppose so.”

Fenris pulled him to him. “You’re amazing. And, beautiful. And, mine.”

Anders smiled. “Well, the last one’s true, at least.” He resumed the kiss he’d started by the pond. 

As Anders revisited the soul-stealing kiss, and pressed more tightly against the elf, Fenris felt himself heating. His mage... his brilliant, caring mage. He backed Anders against the wall. Pulling his gauntlets from his hands, he pinned the mage against him. 

“My mage,” he muttered gruffly against his lips. Anders jerked his hips forward. Fenris groaned happily. His lusty mage. Anders undid the elf’s leggings, and reached inside to stroke his hardening shaft. Fenris gasped into their kiss. He felt heat pooling in his groin. Anders’ mouth moved to give open-mouthed, sucking kisses to the lyrium lines on his neck. He heard the mage’s enthusiastic moans. Fenris loved it that just his skin and lyrium could so affect Anders. His mage desired him.

Fenris opened Anders’ breeches, found his arousal, and stroked his turgid flesh. Anders groaned ecstatically against his skin. Fenris pulled the mage’s mouth back up to his. Hands working each other’s flesh, they shared a blistering, wet kiss; tongues entwining, teeth nipping. Fenris gazed at Anders. His mage was panting, lips swollen from their kiss, eyes lowered to watch as they stroked each other. 

“My mage is beautiful,” he whispered. His breath caught as Anders brought him closer to his peak. Leaning their foreheads together, they watched themselves pleasure the other. Anders whispered harshly, “Fenris... I’m coming....” 

“Yes, my mage....” Anders jerked in his hand, spilling over his fingers. Fenris thrust into Anders’ hand, breath gasping. “Mine... mine....” and shuddered into completion. They leaned against each other, catching their breath. 

Anders murmured against the elf’s neck. “Always yours.”

A knock at the door in the late afternoon brought Cullen and Eve into their suite. Eve was jittering with excitement. It was much easier for Anders to describe the potion to Eve, with Cullen present, than to Cullen, alone.

Anders handed her the recipe, so that she could reassure herself as to its properties. She nodded. “Tell me about it,” she encouraged.

“Mages are more efficient at metabolizing and excreting lyrium than non-mages. Lyrium’s ingestion results in waste-products being left behind in the systems of someone like Cullen. The waste is likened to “incomplete” lyrium. Its presence causes a craving for complete lyrium. That’s the addiction, and what causes the withdrawal symptoms. It also causes delirium, after a sufficient build-up. Long ago, mages seeking greater power used large quantities of lyrium. Even the mage metabolism can’t handle such copious amounts. So, this potion was developed. It will attach to the lyrium waste, and allow it to be purged from the body.”

Cullen’s brows were drawn. “Why is it no longer known?”

Anders sighed. “Such large amounts of lyrium is cost-prohibitive to many. It’s also inconvenient and uncomfortable to use this potion. So, blood magic grew in popularity. It’s cheaper than lyrium, and doesn’t require a purge.” 

Cullen was appalled. “People are killed to fuel magic, because those in power want a cheaper, convenient alternative to lyrium?”

“It looks that way.”

“You said I’d be ill.”

“When your body purges the waste, it’s uncomfortable. The literature didn’t go into detail. I imagine it’ll be gastrointestinal distress; vomiting, diarrhea, possibly excessive urination. For a day, or less.”

Eve nodded in agreement. “Cullen, if you want to try it, I agree. When do you want to start?”

Cullen looked relieved. “As soon as possible.”

Eve looked at Anders. “I’m not sure how much help he’s going to need during the cleanse. I’m not sure if one hand will be enough.”

Cullen looked at her, uncomfortably. “Eve, I’d rather you weren’t here, for this.”

The look she gave him must have been the one that dropped demons. “Why not? You’re my husband... I’m a healer.”

Fenris stood abruptly. “We need... something.” He grabbed Anders and dragged him into the hall.

“Did you just run in terror from our own room?”

“I will face many foes, Anders, but I will not stand in melee distance of a marital dispute.” Bull walked out of Dorian’s suite just then.

“Smart man. Why do you think the Qun forbids marriage?”

Dorian followed behind Bull. “For that matter, why do you think I left my country to avoid it?”

Eventually, Eve came to the door. “I’m sorry for the fuss. You can come back in your suite, now.”

They tentatively sat, again.

“I won’t be here for the process,” Eve sighed. “Would you be able to help him through it?”

Anders frowned. “I don’t know how able I’ll be. I can barely talk to Cullen on my own, let alone touch him.”

“I’ll be with you,” Fenris said. “If Cullen’s willing, I can help.”

Cullen shrugged, and gave a resigned sigh. “I’m hoping I can simply get up and down to the loo, myself, and be done with it. If it’s so much worse that I actually need help... I imagine I won’t care who’s providing it.”

“Let’s start in the morning, then,” Eve said. “Everyone will be rested.”

Watching Cullen sit opposite Eve, and down the potion, was nearly Fenris’ undoing. He pulled Anders to him. He buried his face in the crook of his mage’s shoulder, and shook. Fenris was, momentarily, back in Danarius’ chambers, sitting opposite Anders as he took the Spiritu Dispus. Watching him scream in agony for an eternity.

Anders gentled him through it. Convinced him to open his eyes, to see that Anders was healthy and strong. His tremors subsided, and he saw that even Cullen was unharmed. He stroked a hand over Anders’ hair, and tried to smile. 

Eve stood, and kissed Cullen. “I’ll be in the hall, if you need anything,” she said. She left the suite. 

Cullen grimaced. “Perhaps it’s foolish pride. She’s had to act as my caretaker often enough. I’d rather she didn’t help me on and off the toilet until we’ve at least reached our dotage in life.”

Anders nodded. Many patients felt that way about spousal involvement. 

“How long do you think it will be until...” Cullen’s question was cut-off. He slapped his hand over his mouth and sprinted for the toilet. The purge was underway.

Cullen knelt before the bowl for hours. Anders brought him a cushion for his knees, and water to rinse his mouth. Cullen moaned that his mouth tasted like lyrium gone wrong. His back and abdominal muscles cramped from the force of contraction. Anders used healing magic to soothe that discomfort, but the vomiting had to continue on its own.

When the purge expanded to involve both ends of the digestive tract, Anders was glad they were there to help. He was also glad for indoor plumbing. He had seen similar misery when gastrointestinal infections spread through the cramped, filthy settlements in Darktown. This was much more easily handled than with an overflowing chamberpot.

During a lull in his body’s distress, Cullen was hesitant to leave the loo to lie on his bed for rest. Anders and Fenris brought blankets and a pillow for him to lie on. He collapsed in exhaustion on the bathroom floor, wrapping his arms around his middle. 

Fenris leaned against the wall while Anders got down on the floor with Cullen. His hand hovered over his cheek briefly, then he brought it gently to his skin. Warm, but not feverish. His thumb lifted one eyelid to examine an eye. The whites of his eyes were blood red. Hard vomiting had burst the vessels. He lay his hands over Cullen’s eyes and cast healing magic. Cullen opened his eyes and looked at him tiredly. 

“Open your mouth, so I can see your throat.” Cullen complied. Yes, his throat was red and raw. More magic to soothe the burned tissues. Anders held a straw to his mouth so he could to take sips of the same weak juice Anders and Fenris had drunk when they first arrived at the estate. “Any blood when you vomit or eliminate?”

Cullen shook his head. “Just lyrium-blue... Maker, I’ve never felt so sick.”

“You’re going to live through this, Cullen. I’ve never seen someone so miserable, who complained so... not at all.”

“I asked for this. I’m getting my life back, Anders. I’m not going to complain about that.” He sipped some more juice. “You were able to touch me. I’m glad.”

When he felt another purge coming on, Fenris helped Anders lift him up, again. Cullen was too weak to manage himself.

Finally, by suppertime, Cullen declared he felt better. They helped him to the couch, and Eve was brought inside. Anders and Fenris smirked when Eve carried in a bowl of the porridge they had eaten as their first meals in the estate. When that stayed down, Eve and Anders tried feeling for lyrium remaining in Cullen’s system. They felt nothing. 

The lyrium waste, with its addiction, and its withdrawal, were gone. Cullen took Eve into his arms, and wept.

Tears ran down Anders’ face, as well. Fenris pulled him to him, and whispered in his ear.

“See what a miracle you have wrought, my Anders? This is the beauty of you.” 

Cullen and Eve didn’t reappear until the next afternoon. As they walked onto the lawn, Cullen looked tired, but moved with an easy stride. His face looked remarkably younger, minus its usual furrowed brow and tense expression. Everyone present greeted him, and expressed congratulations for his health. Cullen smiled, but demurred.

He joined Fenris and Anders when Eve sat with Dorian to talk. 

“I don’t know why I am congratulated for something that was entirely your doing,” he said.

Anders shrugged. “You took the stuff. That took guts.”

Cullen snorted. “No pun intended?” 

The mage shook his head. “How do you feel?”

“Better than I have in years. The fever, pain, headache... all gone. No craving. I have a hard time believing it’s real.”

Anders nodded. “I understand.” The mage was lost in thought for a moment. “I’m sorry I can’t help with the rest.”

Cullen smiled, softly. “You did. Before the withdrawal, it was less intrusive. It will be, again.”

The three watched Tigris attack Krem’s boot, and be scooped-up by the mercenary. 

“I can never repay you, Anders. You’ve given me control of my life, once again. I have finally broken the chain that sought to bind me.”

Anders reached out his hand, and gripped Cullen’s arm. “Then, that’s payment enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anders is so damn sweet, it just gives me a toothache. 
> 
> Sometimes, it's easier to do things in the act of caretaking than elsewhere; like: touch, asking questions, keeping your shit together. 
> 
> I rather envision Cullen's purge as a non-infectious, short-lasting, blue-tinged, norovirus. 
> 
> Thank you so much for your comments and thoughts! They really make the writing easier, just to know it was enjoyed.


	19. Pushing Boundaries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders finds ways to connect.
> 
> Fenris writes a letter.

Anders felt as though his world had expanded a thousand-fold. There was an entire other person on the planet with whom he could speak and make contact. Fenris could have kissed Cullen, he was so pleased. He opted for kissing Anders, instead.

If Cullen was befuddled by Anders’ sudden interest in his company, he concealed it well. The mage wasn’t as ebullient with him as he was with his other three conversational partners. But, simply speaking with him at all was heady. Cullen seemed to understand the import of their fellowship, and was open and flexible in his conversation. 

Some moments, Anders was relaxed and chatted easily. Others, he was caught in single-word replies. When just the two of them, it was an awkward-sounding conversation. Cullen tended to stammer slightly if nervous, and wasn’t given to small talk. As it turned out, they both enjoyed the other’s company. They also had a few surprising parallels in life.

Anders entered the Circle at age twelve; Cullen entered the Chantry for training at thirteen. Both were at the Ferelden Circle of Magi. Cullen was there only for Anders’ last year or so. Both were saved by the Hero of Ferelden and Alistair Theirin, although in entirely different situations. Cullen was held captive by Uldred’s blood mages, when he was rescued. Anders was about to be taken captive by Templars when he was conscripted into the Grey Wardens. Finally, both ended up in Kirkwall within a few years of the other. 

“You know... you’re the first Templar I’ve ever really talked to. You’re smarter than I would have expected.”

Cullen chuckled. “Well, I’m not a Templar, anymore. Perhaps that skews your perception. You had to have interacted with them in the Circle?”

“Sort of. Those conversations were mostly me, smart-mouthing them.”

Fenris, sitting with them, snorted. “How surprising.”

“I remember that, about you. Very glib.”

“Not so much, anymore.”

“Says you,” muttered Fenris.

Cullen was able to fill in a few of the burn-holes in Anders’ memory of the Circle. Faces, names, events. Anders and Fenris both were interested in Cullen’s perspective of events during their shared time in Kirkwall. Listening to Cullen describe Meredith’s slow descent into madness triggered a few memories for them. In some ways, it was eerily similar to Danarius’ fall into madness. 

“She didn’t hold me in confidence, especially the last few years. I tried to explain-away so much. After Kinloch Hold, I held mages in bitter regard. I barely considered them people.” He looked at Anders, then at Eve, talking with Dorian and Bull. “I’m ashamed of that, now. I’m sorry, Anders. I hope you don’t regret helping me.”

Anders shook his head. “I barely considered Templars people,” he finally admitted. “I’ve known of many Templars that committed atrocities against mages. But, I’ve also known mages that committed just as heinous of crimes. Danarius is one. Quentin, another. Our pasts are past. You make Eve happy. You’ve always been decent to me. What we are now, is what’s important.”

Anders and Cullen made attempts at chess. Anders hadn’t played since he left the Circle, but it came back to him. As it happened, he wasn’t very good at it. His was not a mind of strategy. Or, perhaps it had been, but like other things, it was now lost to him. He played cards, instead. He discovered he could play with people he didn’t speak with, if it was a game that didn’t require speech. He’d been around the Chargers enough, and they him, that he could sit with them in a game. He played Diamondback with both Krem and Grim. Krem was calm, respectful, and Anders found him endlessly amusing in the tales he told. Grim didn’t talk, at all. He grunted. Anders and Grim played a lot of gin rummy the last few days of the Charger’s visit. Both appreciated the other’s laconic manner.

Fenris watched his mage blossom. He knew it was the positive experience with Cullen that had opened him up so much. It was also Anders’ concern as a healer that bolstered him to talk with Cullen, in the first place; and later, to touch him during his purge. 

Cullen and Eve sat with Fenris as he watched Anders in a game with Grim. Cullen asked, “Do you think he’ll ever be able speak with others, as he did before?”

Fenris shrugged. “I honestly can’t say. He’s come further than I would have thought, already. I want him to have any good thing this world can give him. If that includes speech, I’ll rejoice. If it doesn’t, I’ll rejoice for what he does have.”

“He’s lucky to have you.”

Fenris shook his head. “I’m the lucky one. I’m not whole without him.” Just then, Anders turned to look at him, and smiled. Fenris smiled back, feeling his heart fill. “If he should never speak with others, then I will be his voice, whenever he needs.”

“Did he ever write to Varric?” Eve asked. “Send a return letter?”

“No. He doesn’t know what to write.”

Cullen grunted. “I’m not surprised. Writing is just another way of speaking. It’s probably just as hard.”

One evening, a game of Wicked Grace started in the dining hall. It was the largest game Fenris had ever seen. Bull and Eve claimed to have been in a game of twenty, once, in Skyhold’s tavern. Cullen was frowning about being involved, at all. Eve told Anders that Cullen sulked because he lost all his clothes in a Wicked Grace game, and had to make a walk of shame back to his office. Anders burst into laughter. 

“Are you talking about Cullen losing his clothes to Josephine?” Bull inquired. “That was awesome! You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of showing in a walk of shame, Cullen.” Cullen’s face burned bright red. “Awww... he’s blushing! OK, gang, starting bet’s a silver.”

The first three hands, Fenris won. Halfway through the fourth hand, Bull called them out.

“I see those little cues going back and forth between Chatterbox and you. Skinner’ll take you out a window, you keep that up.”

Eve was horrified. “I declared this a clean game months ago! How could you cheat like that, again?”

Both men replied, “Old habits die hard.”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Oh, Maker’s sake. They’re matching, again. You’re only doing it to distract me. Stop, this instant.”

Both replied, “Yes, Dorian.”

“Ugh.”

It was the most enjoyable time Anders had had since leaving Kirkwall. He didn’t have to speak to turn-in cards and get the same number back, or to fold or call. When he raised a bet, Fenris declared the amount for him. He drank just enough to feel a pleasant buzz.  
Surrounded by the four people with whom he could speak, he was comfortable, safe and happy. 

In the early hours of the morning, Anders slept in the dim candlelight of their bedchamber. Fenris lay and watched the light play over his mage’s face. His fingers ghosted over Anders’ features, heart fluttering at the beauty of him. Placing a gentle kiss to his forehead, Fenris slipped from the bed.

Lighting a lamp, he sat at the desk, and picked up a quill. With slow, careful attention, he began to write.

“Dear Varric,

“I wish I could say that your letter was received with joy. It was received with many mixed emotions. Only after Dorian had finished reading it to us, and we had time to let your words sink in, did we feel joy. 

“Since the moment you last saw us, we believed we had been abandoned. We knew only that Varania had betrayed me to the magister, that Hawke had betrayed us both to him, and that all of our friends had allowed us to be taken. We believed that all the friendships we had held as true, had been false. 

“To receive your letter, and find that we, indeed, had comrades--I do not have the words, Varric. Neither does Anders. Words often elude him, now, leaving him unvoiced; which is why I write this letter in his stead.

“To hear how our friends had fought for us, and never gave up, gave us strength. We were not forgotten. 

“You looked for us, Varric, and for that I will always be grateful. If you had not, if you had not met Eve and Dorian, and told them of your search--it is hard to think what would have come. Dorian took us from the brink of death, and gave us a safe haven where Eve could heal us. They gave us time and space and understanding that I had never known existed. They gave us life. Not simply the life of a beating heart. They gave us a life to live.

“My Anders has freedom, here. He has a family name. He has security, and I can ask for nothing more. His spirit of justice is gone, destroyed in a way that nearly destroyed him. And, in so doing, nearly destroyed me. 

“We have met people that you know. They are good people, and they have broadened our horizons. Bull, his Chargers, Cullen. All have helped us both find our way further along our path. 

“You wondered if we are still Blondie and Broody. I cannot answer that. I can tell you we are not who we were. The past years have rewritten us both. We are broken, and rebuilding. Anders--my beloved Anders--was wounded most. Yet, he heals and finds more of himself, everyday. It is hard for him. It will always be hard for us both. 

“In truth, what we were, and what we will be, does not really matter. All that matters, is that we are together. 

“Tonight, we played Wicked Grace with our mutual friends. There were memories of you, from many people. Anders and I missed you at the table. We miss you, in our hearts. We hope that you have a good life, and that your position brings you happiness. And, like you, we also hope to sit down with you, again, over a game of cards and a pitcher of ale.

“Fenris.”

He lay down his quill, and looked over his letter. His writing lacked Anders’ eloquence, and there were several cross-outs. But, he was satisfied. He would speak where Anders could not. He’d post the letter in the morning.

He crawled back in bed, lifting Tigris from his pillow and setting her in her basket. Anders rolled over sleepily, wrapped his arms around him, and opened his mouth against his neck. Fenris sighed, content. However broad their horizons might become, he would always be able to hold his entire world in his arms.

The sparring ring was seeing new contestants. Eve was adjusting her battle technique, to use one hand. Anders was becoming accustomed to using his staff, now that he had one. 

Sparring with magic is unlike sparring with physical weapons. The spells pretty much always hit, so it’s a matter of finesse and mana management. Anders had been out of battle for years. Eve was far superior... in the beginning. It didn’t take him long to get his skills back. 

Sparring with Dorian was unlike any fighting Anders had seen. He’d never fought a fully trained Tevinter mage on his own. Their sparring matches were more like a classroom than a battle. Anders continually stopped the match to ask about a spell or technique Dorian had used. They were finally boo’d out of the ring by the Chargers, who wanted entertainment, not lectures. 

Finally, when he and Fenris teamed up against Cullen and Eve, it was simply wonderful. Cullen hadn’t felt well enough to spar, until now. Anders and Fenris had fought as part of a team for nearly a decade. It felt utterly natural and right to be fighting with him, again. There was some awkwardness, initially, with Fenris continually looking behind him to check on Anders. Each time he did so, Cullen took advantage and knocked the elf in the dirt, ribbing him mercilessly. When Fenris realized Anders was holding his own, he focused forward, and set himself on gaining retribution.

Of course, Bull couldn’t resist testing the new participants’ mettle. He’d fought alongside both Eve and Dorian many times. Fenris and he had sparred several times. Surprisingly, in the years he was with the Inquisition, he’d never fought alongside, nor against, Cullen.

“Cullen! Quit playing with those sparkly mages and glowing elves. Let’s fight with good, old-fashioned metal, muscle and might.”

Cullen grinned. “What, just you? You won’t need your Chargers as back-up?”

The Chargers responded in mock offense, clanging their weapons and shouting reprisals.

Bull grinned in return. “That’s right, big guy. You keep talking that talk, maybe you’ll start to walk that walk.”

Cullen strode to the ring. “I’ve been walking that walk since I was was a child. May as well walk it all over you.”

Watching from the sidelines, Eve was shaking her head. “I have never seen so much swagger in that man,” she confessed to Fenris. The elf nodded.

“He’ll manage himself. He’s rediscovered some vitality.”

Eve leered while watching her husband square-off against Bull. “You’re telling me.”

Fenris grimaced. “No. I do not wish to hear more.” He stabbed himself with a gauntlet-tip trying to plug his ears. 

Bull and Cullen were circling each other, making feints and casual swings. Cullen taunted him.

“A little nervous? Performance anxiety, Bull?”

“Aw, this is just foreplay. Wait until things get hot.”

Krem called from the sidelines, “C’mon, Chief! Are you fighting him, or courting him?”

Cullen called back, “He hasn’t a chance, either way.”

Bull gave a roar and started swinging his giant hammer. Cullen was surprisingly nimble, and ducked and dodged. Bull took a number of hits with the practice blade, none that would be fatal in a true fight. Cullen’s shield was no match for a hammer of that size. He relied on speed and agility to avoid a hit. 

It was a good fight. Both men were sweating and out of breath. When Cullen’s weapon smacked the back of Bull’s leg, the giant went down. Cullen stood over him, smiling, and extended a hand. The hammer swung around, the head hitting the shield, and knocking Cullen to his back. 

Bull kneeled over him, hammer pinning Cullen to the ground. “Never assume it’s over, ‘til it’s over,” he taunted. Cullen grinned. 

“Look down.”

Cullen’s blade-tip was nudged under Bull’s groin. The tiniest of movements with a real blade would cause mayhem.

Krem catcalled from the sidelines. “Careful, Chief! You’re gonna end up the Iron Steer!”

Bull stood, and helped Cullen up. “You fight dirty, Cullen,” he admired.

Cullen dusted himself off, grinning. “Only to win.”

Neither Anders nor Fenris could remember such a time of joy and comradery. In just two weeks, the mixed group had begun to feel like family. 

Fenris knew that this time, with these people, had given Anders the courage he’d needed to explore the boundaries of his limitations. However far, or little, the mage pushed his limitations, Fenris would celebrate that courage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Anders. Oh, Fenris. 
> 
> Wicked Grace! Sorry, no nay-nay Cullen, this time.
> 
> Thank you all for your continued support and comments!
> 
>  
> 
> to be continued....


	20. Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders and Fenris receive an invitation.
> 
> Dorian sends mixed messages.

The house was still. The halls were empty. All was quiet.

A muted glow cast shadows through the bedchamber, flickering with the movement of the candle flame. Soft sounds accompanied the golden light; sighs, whispers, brushing of skin. 

Fenris steadied his breath, lungs making deep pulls of air, as his body slowly rocked with the rhythm of the man above him. Anders moved within him, gently stoking his passion. The mage was in no hurry. He marshaled his stamina, letting slow currents of pleasure carry them. He watched the man under him; his expression, his eyes, his body. There was no finer view worth his attention.

Fenris closed his eyes, feeling, listening. Anders’ soft voice was a whisper in his ears. 

“I can do this all night, love... keep you floating in a sea of pleasure. Giving you just enough to make you want... to keep you from falling. I love to watch you in your bliss... sweet Fenris.... to watch your eyes as they fill with need. To watch your body come undone. To see the beauty of your face... the strength of your body....”

Fenris’ body felt no strength, right then. He shuddered, his skin damp with sweat from the slow build the mage had set. Anders’ soft voice sent flames through him. Another slow roll of pleasure moved over his body. “Anders....” his voice barely audible over the sigh that carried it.

“You’re getting closer, I can feel it.... Being inside of you is the closest to heaven this world offers....” Anders’ whisper faltered. “Oh, Maker.... Fenris....” The mage trembled. The elf’s eyes opened, gazing at Anders, so beautifully erotic.

The mage adjusted his body’s angle, keeping his slow pace. As he stroked leisurely over the elf’s sweet spot, Fenris groaned with heady desire. Anders’ whisper began, again. “You’re almost ready, my beautiful love.... so close.... I want to feel you find your pleasure....” Fenris’ body felt as though it would shudder apart. He felt the climb to his peak begin at an unbearable crawl. His body clenched around the mage, fingernails biting into Anders’ skin as he held himself in check. 

Anders panted, his hot breath sending shivers down Fenris’ spine. The slow rocking continued. Moans escaped them both. Each clung to the trembling body against theirs. Ecstasy curled tightly in their loins, drawing whimpers of need. The elf’s back arched, body taut with impending culmination. Anders’ trembling hand reached between their bodies and stroked the elf’s arousal. “Come for me, love....” Fenris’ vision went white as his body slammed into climax. His breath sobbed as he felt Anders convulse, felt the heat spending within him, heard his name called in breathy moans.

His arms encircled the mage. Their breathing slowed. Whispers, sighs and soft brushes of skin were all that could be heard in the flickering golden light. 

The house was still. The halls were empty. All was quiet.

The three men had drifted aimlessly through the days following their guests’ departure. The Chargers were escorting Eve and Cullen to Ferelden. They would travel south, through Nevarra, and take ship across the Waking Sea. 

Their departure had been emotional, for everyone. Anders, always the first to succumb to feelings, wept continually the morning before they left. He wasn’t alone by the time the carriage was packed, and the passengers ready to board. Dorian and Bull stayed long in the privacy of his suite, and emerged pensive. Fenris and Anders embraced Eve and Cullen, weeping quietly. Then, the couple was inside the carriage, the Chargers atop its roof.

Bull pulled Dorian into a final, long, mournful kiss. When he mounted the carriage, it was as though he’d left his strength behind. As the carriage pulled away, the Chargers began a beautiful farewell refrain. The three men stood, with hearts aching, and watched until the carriage and song had both disappeared. 

The rest of that day was silent. Dorian took to his suite, and didn’t emerge. Fenris and Anders listlessly moved through the house and garden. The staff had been busy. The furniture that had resided in the garden had been returned to the house, and the makeshift sparring ring was dismantled. As they walked by the pond, Anders automatically stooped to pick up a pebble to skip. He dropped it again as tears threatened. He pulled Fenris into a hug.

“I miss them so much,” he said with a rough voice. Fenris nodded.

“I do, too.” He did. He’d never felt such a convivial sense of connection with so many people. The conversation, the laughter, the games... never in his life had he enjoyed himself so much. 

And, so much more, the confidence Anders had gained, and the joy he’d felt, filled the elf with gratitude for the people who had been part of it. He held his mage as Anders fought back the emotions breaking through. All he wanted in life was for Anders to be happy.

As the days passed, they each quietly established, or reacquainted with, their goals. Dorian increased his efforts in finding support for reform. He was in the city on a regular basis. He met people for meals, attended meetings at the local Circle, corresponded endlessly with various people inside and outside of Tevinter. 

Anders was determined to become more adept in public settings. Spending the weeks in the company of others, listening to their stories, their plans... Anders realized how small their world was. He wanted more. They’d made steps in that direction, going into the city with Dorian. He and Fenris now accompanied Dorian on all of his trips. They spent time simply moving among the citizens. Walking a crowded street, growing accustomed to the brush of shoulders against theirs. Anders realized that accidental bumps and brushes by people weren’t upsetting in the way a deliberate grab or touch was. He didn’t like it, but he slowly taught himself not to skitter away from accidental contact. The few times that another noble moved as though to initiate conversation, Fenris did what he had promised, months ago. Simply stepping in front of Anders, his presence was like a sign. People left them alone. 

They ate lunch at crowded restaurants. Anders couldn’t bring himself to order his food. Fenris spoke to the staff. It wasn’t really unusual. Although some slaves accompanying their owners knelt on the floor, others sat at the table. Fenris ordering for them both was a sign that Anders was not interested in speaking, at least to service personnel. Anders didn’t like looking as though he was arrogant, but it was pretty much the only reason a noble wouldn’t speak for himself. 

Eating from their own plates--without feeding one another--was a difficult habit to break. At home, they still indulged. For so long, they’d divided their food between them, and ensured the other ate enough. But, they realized most people found their dining habit odd. So, in public, they isolated their plates, and ate only their own serving. It felt lonely. They watched each other as they ate, still ensuring the other ate enough to satisfy them.

There was only one goal with which Anders and Fenris were not in accord. Anders wanted to break the need to bury his mouth in Fenris’ neck for comfort. Tasting, scenting and touching each other in this way provided instant relief of anxiety, fear or pain. The contact left both the giver and receiver with a strong sense of peace and intimacy. Fenris didn’t want it to stop. Anders saw it as a symptom of his broken psyche. He desperately wanted to be whole. However much he missed it, Fenris couldn’t bring himself to argue with the mage.

Fenris wanted most of all to help Anders with whatever made him happy. Whether it was learning to navigate crowds, or eating from their own plate, or even no longer comforting the mage in the way they’d learned, he supported him. Beyond that, he continued to improve his reading and writing. He realized that he would never be as eloquent a writer as Anders or Dorian. He wasn’t an eloquent speaker. As Cullen had pointed out, writing was just another form of speaking. Fenris accepted himself for what he was, and focused instead on the mechanics. 

He learned more about Dorian’s quest for reform throughout Tevinter. Fenris had a sense for Tevinter attitude and motivation that gave him an understanding in areas in which Dorian was weaker. The two discussed potential reform for hours.

Anders found it interesting, but preferred to lose himself in his new research project. When Fenris asked about it, he said only that he hoped to help the Grey Wardens. He discussed possible avenues with Dorian, who helped him send letters to potential collaborators. Words, both spoken and written, continued to come with difficulty to the mage.

A letter arrived one day for Fenris and Anders. Unlike the first letter they had received, this one was received with joy. It was from Varric.

Grinning, Fenris handed it to Anders, and listened as the mage read it aloud.

“Dear Blondie and Broody,

“Damn glad to get your letter. Especially after that crazy screw-up of an Exalted Council. The best thing that came out of that was learning you were alive and safe. The worst thing, that business with Eve losing her arm. She’s a fine person, who really didn’t deserve that.

“Hearing how you believed we had betrayed you... that was hard, I’ll admit. But, it makes sense. In your shoes, any of us would have thought the same. I’m glad you know the truth. I was then, I am now, and I always will be, your friend. As such, since you didn’t out-and-out say ‘no’, you are still Blondie and Broody, to me.

“You mentioned your sister. I’m sorry, Broody. If there’s one thing I know, it’s the pain of family betrayal. Like Bartrand, Varania got her comeuppance. I don’t know if you know this, but Danarius didn’t take her back to Tevinter. As she stood to follow them all out of the tavern, one of his men pushed her back into her chair. ‘The Master can’t trust a woman who’d betray her own brother,’ he said. He tossed a small coin purse at her, ‘For your trouble,’ he said, and walked out the door.

“It was right after that we realized what Hawke had done, so I don’t know what she did, next. Some time later, we saw her in the Gallows’ courtyard, hawking wares. Big Tranquil brand on her forehead. I don’t know how she ended up there, or why she was made Tranquil. I never saw her, again, after the mage rebellion.”

Anders stopped reading, and looked at the elf. “Maker, Fenris... she was made Tranquil.”

Fenris nodded. He was satisfied to know what happened. Anders would say death was preferable. The elf didn’t know. Maybe, Tranquil, she found a little of the horror they’d experienced as a result of her action. “Keep reading.”

“You don’t say much about what happened to you during your time in Tevinter, but what you say is enough. Not every story needs to be written, not even by me. I can’t say I’m unhappy that Justice is gone. But, I’m not at all happy that Blondie went through whatever he did when the spirit was destroyed. I’m not at all happy either of you went through any of what you did.

“It’s hard for me to imagine Blondie at a loss for words. He talked almost as much as I do. Maybe he’ll find those words, again. If he doesn’t, I'm glad he’s got you, Broody, to say what he can’t. Besides, it makes more room for me to fill the space. 

“On that topic, don’t think I didn’t catch the rhapsody in your letter, Broody. ‘My beloved Anders’ isn’t exactly a phrase I’d have ever expected out of you. Catch me off guard? Oh, hell, yeah. I wasted a mouthful of ale, spitting it out when I read that. Am I surprised? You know, not really. The world did almost end, after all. And, Sparkler tells me that cows flew over Minrathous. So, I suppose anything’s possible. Makes me wish I was writing this story, because that’s got to be the romance to end all romances. Really, all kidding aside, I’m glad. I’m damn glad you have each other to help with your healing, and find good in the world. You deserve good things. 

Anders stopped reading to laugh. “You do realize we’re going to be in a best-selling, bodice-ripping novel, don’t you? He’ll try not to write it, but he can’t help himself.”

Fenris snorted. “We’ll send him details about Bull and Dorian’s reunion to distract him. A love story between a qunari Ben hassrath and a Tevinter mage will garner higher sales.” Laughing, Anders continued reading.

“And, you met Bull and the Chargers, huh? Oh, how I wish I could have been there! This Viscount schtick is really a time-cruncher. It’s not all bad. Lot of meetings, lot of writing--and not the good kind. The crown makes my head itch. Luckily, if I’m not wearing it, most common folk don’t recognize me. I spend as much time at the Hanged Man as I can. It was gutted during the rebellion. I invested in it, and had it rebuilt. What the hell, I was rebuilding half the city, anyway. It’s still a working-man/drinking man’s pub. I wouldn’t go to any other kind. No holes in the roof, and the bloodstains are all new. I still keep a room, there, for when games run late.

“Speaking of rebuilding and rooming... I bought Broody’s old squatter’s-roost. Damn cheap, too. I was acquiring the home next door for Eve, and had it thrown in for a song. Seriously. I threatened to sing if the assessor didn’t give it to me as a public service. It was a rotting hulk, and still had desiccated corpses in it. Seriously, Broody? Anyway, it's been refurbished, and the ownership’s in your name, filed legal, and everything. Anytime you want to drop by Kirkwall for a visit, it’s waiting for you. 

“Which leads me to an invitation. Any time, any reason, come see your old pal, Varric. Gander at some changes that've happened since you were last here. Aveline and Donnic send their love, and would like to see you, too. They have a baby, by the way. Yeah, how’s that for a head-spinner? A ginger-haired hellion of a girl that’s got Donnic wrapped around her little finger. They hired Orana out from under me as their nanny. I see Isabela and Merrill on the odd occasion, when they make port. The Chargers say they’ll drop by if they’re in the area. The Hanged Man needs that crew to really finish the redecorating. 

“So, show up. Stay in your house. Lose at cards. Make fun of my crown. Pay me that five sovereigns you still owe me, Elf. Just, get here.

“Varric.”

Anders looked up from the letter, a smile on his face. “You still owe him five sovereigns?”

“I didn’t exactly have a chance to settle accounts before leaving. I’m still getting over that Aveline had a child.”

“I want to go.”

Fenris tried to keep his excitement in check. “You do?”

“Yes. I want to see Varric, and whoever’s there. I want to walk that city without fear of being picked-up by Templars. I want to see the Hanged Man, and put new memories over the last one.”

Fenris smiled hugely. “Then, we shall go.”

Dorian had received mail, as well. When they found him in his suite, to show him Varric’s letter, he looked grim.

He studied them a moment as they sat on his settee. Finally, he sighed. 

“My father is dead. Assassinated, I believe. I just received notice. A perversely cheerful letter congratulating me on assuming his seat in the magisterium.”

Anders jumped from his seat, embracing Dorian. “What can we do?” Dorian patted Anders' shoulder, then gently set Anders away from him. “There’s really nothing that can be done. You know my father and I had a complicated relationship. We’ve only met a few times since I’ve been home. He didn’t say anything about keeping me as his heir. Apparently, he had.”

Fenris watched Anders as he scrutinized Dorian's face. His mage looked confused.

Dorian stood and paced. “I’ll need to go to Minrathous. In fact, I’ll be making the Pavus estate there my permanent residence. You can stay here, if you like.The Minrathous estate is large enough, if you feel you need to come. Do as you wish.”

Anders now looked utterly lost. He lowered his head, and sat next to Fenris, taking his hand.

“I’m tripling your Inheritor allowance, Anders. You’ll also receive a large bulk sum, once my father’s will is settled. You’ll be more than comfortable. You'll be rich. You'll have enough to travel, and set up your own household. To meet any need you have, at any time.”

Fenris felt Anders’ handgrip tighten. “When are you leaving?” Fenris asked.

Dorian turned his back, ruffling through papers on his desk. He cleared his throat. "It'll take a little time to arrange matters. A month or more. If you'll excuse me, I've correspondence to manage."

Fenris watched Anders as they left Dorian’s suite. His face twitched madly. In the privacy of their suite, the mage perched on the edge of the settee. His shaking hands pressed together, his face continuing to twitch.

"Anders... what's happening inside you?"

The mage shook his head, biting his lips. Fenris sat and cupped his face, trying to make eye contact. “Anders... talk to me.”

Looking at his hands, the mage said, "He's leaving us."

“He said we can go with him. Do you want to go to Minrathous?”

Anders shook his head. "That's not what he said. He said there was room for us, if we needed to come. Then, he said he was increasing my allowance, so we could travel and set-up housekeeping." He took a shuddering breath. "He doesn't want us to come with him."

"I'm sure that's not what he meant, Anders. 

"Fenris, when my adoption was finalized, he asked us to stay with him. Now... you were there! He wouldn't even let me touch him. He turned his back and dismissed us."

Fenris agreed, it had been an unusual discussion. "Dorian’s grieving. He’s upset. You know he doesn’t like to show his feelings.”

Anders shook his head. "It's not just that. He would probably take you with him, if not for me. You could help him. You could be his body guard, and protect him. Me? I’m like the feeble-minded relative the family dotes upon; but, when company comes, is relegated to the upstairs bedroom. Of course he doesn’t want me with him in Minrathous.”

Fenris thought about what Anders said, for the rest of the day. He watched Anders as he tried to comfort himself. The mage held Tigris for as long as the active kitten would allow. He curled on the couch with his mother's pillow. He napped, escaping his pain in fitful sleep. He refused to turn to Fenris. Anders was sure his behaviors were what was keeping Dorian from wanting them near his capital home, and his new contemporaries.

Dorian was an elitist, that much was true. But, he was sincere, and kind. He wouldn't have had Anders adopted into his family, if he was embarrassed by him. The elf knew they both had quirks, Anders more than he. But, Dorian had always taken them in stride. 

When suppertime came, Fenris convinced Anders to go to Dorian's suite, as usual. He was sure it would all play-out as it should. 

"Have you thought about what you'd like to do, as far as living situations?" Dorian asked.

Anders' head stayed bent over his plate. Fenris glanced at him, then spoke. "What if we wanted to come to Minrathous?"

Dorian glanced up in surprise. "Oh. Well. I'd need to go ahead of you. I'll be stopping in Qarinus on the way there, pay respects to my mother. It would be best if you weren’t present for that."

"Why not?"

Dorian snorted derisively. "I'm certainly not going to introduce you to my mother."

Anders bolted up from his chair and tried to leave the room. He turned at the door and looked at Fenris with anguish. "Anders isn’t feeling well," Fenris said. Without looking at Dorian, he strode out the door.

Anders was fighting tears, and losing. He paced in their suite, fists pressed to his temples.

Fenris was in shock. His chest felt filled with burning ice. He heard Anders break into a sob and try to bite it back. 

“It’s not Dorian’s fault,” Anders said through a tight throat. “He’s done so much for us. It’s my fault. I’m just... not right.” He lost his fight, and broke down weeping. “I’m so sorry, Fenris.”

Fenris felt his heart break. Dorian had inspired a level of trust and friendship in Fenris that, outside of Anders, the elf had never known. He felt sick that he could have so badly misinterpreted the situation. Dorian was leaving them. Insulting them, and then leaving them. Fenris felt lost. Confused. Abandoned. 

The elf pulled the weeping mage into his arms. “You’re perfect, my Anders. Perfect.” Anders clung to him, body quaking with tears. Fenris cupped Anders’ head in his hand, and tried to bring the mage's mouth to his neck. Anders resisted, shaking his head. 

Fenris finally sobbed. "Please, Anders... I need it...." That was all it took. He felt the suction, almost desperate, latch against his skin. The sensation was intense, consuming, like feeding an addiction. Anders was with him. Fenris could comfort him, give this much to him. He yanked at the neckline of Anders' robes, trying to reach his skin. The material tore, and then Fenris' mouth was on the mage's shoulder. Through his own pain, and the salt of his tears, Fenris found comfort in Anders' taste and scent. The sharp sting of confusion and pain lessened. They were together. They were one. 

Morning found the pair still hurting. Rumpled from sleeping in their clothes, they sat on their settee, lost and confused. Anders had tried to heal the large, purple bruise on the elf’s neck. The mage had been desperate in seeking comfort; he hadn’t let go of Fenris’ neck until he’d fallen asleep, late in the night. Fenris didn’t want it healed. Somehow, it gave him him comfort to feel it there. He could still provide what his mage needed. 

He couldn’t take away the pain, entirely, though. Anders hurt. The elf was reeling. "Do you think Dorian has been putting on an act, all this time? That he never felt true friendship for us?" 

Anders shook his head. He held Tigris, stroking her fur, but his face and voice seemed numb. “No. I think he's an honorable man. It’s not his fault that we read more into his care than was there."

“What do you mean ‘read more into his care’?”

“It happens in healing. Healers have intimate relationships with their patients. Sometimes, it gets confused for something more.” He drew a shuddering breath. “Dorian went above and beyond what anyone could have, to help us. But, I guess that's all it was. Remember what we were like when we came here. His kindness was beyond anything we had known.”

“I imagined a whole friendship?? Both of us? It can’t have all been a misunderstanding... can it?”

“I don’t know, Fenris. I just don’t know. The words he said hurt so much.”

A knock sounded on their door, and then it opened. Dorian stepped inside. “I was wondering....” He stopped, taking a hard look at them. His eyes lingered on the bruise gracing Fenris’ neck and Anders’ red-rimmed eyes. “Something’s wrong... was it the letter from Varric?”

Anders stiffened. Fenris reached for his hand. “No, it wasn’t Varric. We’ve decided not to go to Minrathous.”

Dorian’s face fell. “I see. And... that’s what all this--” he gestured at them “--is about?”

“Not exactly.”

Anders spoke. “We understand why you don’t want us with you.” Dorian’s brows drew together, quizzically. “I know I’m... not what you want to introduce to your family, or to the kind of people you’ll work with. I understand... but, it still hurts. What you said hurts.”

Fenris was impressed with Anders’ reply. He didn’t think he could have done it so well, or so thoughtfully.

Dorian didn’t seem to think it was well done, nor thoughtful. “Just what the hell are you talking about?”

“Don’t make him go through it, again,” Fenris said. “You made it clear you don’t want us to go with you. You turned your back on us and dismissed us from your rooms. And, what you said about introducing us to your mother....” He glanced at Anders, who seemed to be entirely focused on petting the kitten.

Dorian’s eyes were moving as though watching the replay of all that Fenris had detailed. When he focused on them, he looked angry. “Vishante kaffas! And, I mean that, literally. How little loyalty and honor do you think I possess?” He stood, abruptly. “The carriage is out front. Get in it. Now.”

Exchanging a baffled look, the pair stood and followed Dorian to the carriage. Once underway, he spoke, again.

“I don’t know what I possibly did to deserve your distrust, but let’s at least set this straight.” He looked hard at both Fenris and Anders. “You are exactly the kind of people to whom I do want to introduce my family and the Magistrate. As it happens, they are not the kind of people I want to introduce to you. My mother is an back-biting harpy. As poor of a relationship as my father and I had, it was loving in comparison to what I share with Aquinea. The thought of exposing you, or anyone I care about, to her gentle reception is abhorrent. 

“As far as coming to Minrathous...you know I detest making an emotional display. I turned my back so you wouldn’t see how badly I want you with me. You’re my family, of course I want you there. I tried to get you out of the room before I broke down and begged you to come. You should make the life of your choosing, not mine. You have choices, now, and opportunities. I feared asking you to come would sway you from something you might want more.” 

Anders had his hand over his eyes, fighting tears, again. “I’m an idiot.”

“Too right,” Dorian replied. “I thought you trusted me. I had no idea you would be so quick to assume the worst of me. Is it because I’m a dreaded magister, now? Why didn’t you ask? Why did you spend a night in obvious torment, and not say a thing? And, have you any idea how deeply it hurts to find you think so poorly of me?”

Anders wiped his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Dorian. We should have asked what you meant. You’re a good man. A great man.” He took a shuddering breath. “I’m just so ready to be hurt. Like when someone touches me. Maybe, being abandoned in a cell with the one I love, to slowly die, made me fear being left behind. I don’t know.” He raised sincere eyes to Dorian’s tense face. “Please, forgive me.”

Dorian visibly relaxed. He gave a small smile. “Of course. But, don’t bloody well do it, again. It. Hurt.”

Both men replied, “Yes, Dorian.”

Dorian sighed, and rolled his eyes. “Festis bei umo canavarum.”

Anders leaned against Fenris, and sighed. “I’m sorry I got things so messed up, and upset you, and... I’m just sorry.”

Fenris kissed his head. “It made sense to me, too, at the time.” He caught Dorian’s look. “But, it never will, again.”

Anders’ fingers stroked over the deep purple bruise on the elf’s neck. “Will you let me heal this, now?”

Fenris shook his head. “No. Not unless you agree to something. You will come to me for comfort, when you need it. I know you don’t want to be ‘wrong’, anymore. The thing is, there’s nothing wrong with us, Anders. We’ve just been reconstructed. Those little quirky things we do aren’t testimony to how damaged we are. They show how strong we became, together. I want to comfort you, this way.”

Anders blinked at him adoringly. “Agreed.” He stroked the bruise with blue-lit fingertips, and the mark disappeared. 

“I swear, I have a cavity forming, as we speak,” Dorian said. 

Fenris smirked. “Let’s talk about Bull.”

“Yes, let’s,” Dorian said. “There’s no sugary sweetness, there.”

Both Anders and Fenris laughed. “You two are the definition of sugary sweet,” Anders said.

When the carriage turned down a familiar road, Anders got antsy. But, Danarius’ old estate never came into view. Instead, a huge construction site formed in the distance. As they pulled up in front of it, they didn’t recognize anything about the property. A series of buildings were half-completed. Spread over a sizable area, it was difficult to tell what the final goal of the construction was.

Following Dorian, they left the carriage, and walked through the site.

“Belus Wallus and I have joined forces in this project. I was going to wait to show you when it was completed, but I think recent events call for a preview.”

Large numbers of workers were present. Building, planning, running errands, even minding children far from the worksite. 

“What is this?” Fenris asked.

Dorian smiled. “So happy you asked. This is going to be a cooperative venture. Newly freed slaves, destitute freemen, the old and disabled; they will come here to find their way to a new life. They’ll have access to training in a number of skills, including reading and writing. Those who wish to leave the Imperium will receive assistance to travel, or to find family left behind. They will live here, in housing, with family, if they have it. The fields will be farmed and ranched cooperatively for food and to sell produce. It’s the beginning of what will hopefully become a series of commonly found institutions. We’ll make adjustments as we go.”

Anders was astounded. “This is incredible, Dorian.”

Fenris nodded. “And, a perfect use for the property.”

Dorian smiled, hugely. “Yes, the irony is terribly pleasing. Through here... there’s something I want you to see.”

In the center of the site was a large courtyard. In process, of course, but the work so far showed it to be a place of relaxation, and perhaps play, for families. In the center of the courtyard, several sculptors worked on a statue. Perhaps 15-20 feet tall, made of white marble, it was incomplete. Yet, the shape to come was easily discernible. 

A wolf lay in repose, head up, ears raised. In the curve of its ribs, sitting proudly, was a large cat. 

“Makers’ breath... it’s us,” Anders breathed. 

Fenris’ jaw dropped. “This... it’s beautiful. And, it’s... us.” 

Dorian looked at the sculpture. “Few people will ever know what this represents. That isn’t its intention. I wanted to leave your mark. You were here. You suffered. You grew strong. You survived. This place is my legacy, to you. This statue will be all of you that you leave here. You’ve moved on.” 

He turned to them. “Both of you, listen to me, and listen to me well: you are my family. I love you. I may have helped you find your way, but in so doing, you became essential to me. You will always be welcome, wherever I call home. You’re my brothers. You always will be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was tough to write, for several reasons. It's taken the better part of the week to get it done. 
> 
> Abandonment is hard. That's all I have to say about that.
> 
>  
> 
> to be continued....


	21. Journeys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All three men travel to their next destinations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dragon Age Wiki lists Dorian's birth year as 9:11.
> 
> Anders and Fenris have no official birth years, nor stated ages. Searching forums and bit of clues gleaned from the game, I created my head-canon. If it differs from your ideas, don't let it get you down. Enjoy the story!

Dorian had never wanted to be a magister. His love lay in books and research. As a boy, he’d said he wanted to be a magister, many times. Pleasing his father had meant everything to him. So, he said words to make him happy. Once he’d entered his teens, he was certain it was a moot point, regardless.

“Honestly, I never thought it would be an issue.” He drained his glass, and refilled it with the very good wine he’d brought up from the cellar. “I never truly believed Halward would bequeath his seat to me. Not after my inclinations were made clear, anyway.”

“Can you turn it down?” Anders asked. The three men swayed in hammocks in the inner courtyard. Returning from the cooperative site, Dorian had wanted to distinguish the passing of his father, as well as the becoming of a magister. He decided that getting slowly drunk on the finest wine in his cellar was the best way to go about both. The sky was turning beautiful shades of pink and violet as the sun sank.

“I can, yes. Had I never joined the Inquisition, and learned what I did, and seen what I saw, and met who I know... I might have.” He sipped his glass. “But, now. Now, I can do things. I can speak to people. I can try to heal my country.” His head rolled to look at Anders, lying in a large hammock beside Fenris. “I can heal my country, like you healed Cullen. Purge all the poisoning lies from it. All the filth and corruption... just vomit it up, and shit it all out. Make it the glorious land it was meant to be. Regain its beauty and wonder.” 

“I’m not sure it will be quite that easy,” Fenris said. He sipped from Anders’ glass. “A nationwide enema will meet resistance, at some point in the process.”

Dorian waved his hand. “Of course, there will be. They will resist. They always resist.” His mouth fell open. “Vishante kaffas... did I just quote Corypheus? Maker’s breath. I am an evil magister....”

“Only if you don’t bring that bottle over here,” Fenris said, holding up his empty glass. Dorian stood, somewhat unsteadily, and tried to aim the wine bottle at the glass held in the swinging hand of the elf. The hammock struck his legs, and knocked him on top of the two men. All three clamored to avoid spilling the bottle. Dorian found a comfortable position, lying crosswise atop their legs, looking up at the colorful sky. Fenris took the bottle from his hand, and pulled a drink from it.

“The Magisterium isn’t much fun,” Dorian said. “Dour, sour power. That rhymes.”

Anders laughed, and drained his glass. He pulled the bottle from Fenris and took a drink. Dorian took it from Anders, and did the same. 

“You’ll come with me, won’t you?” Dorian asked. His voice was wistful, his grey eyes yearning.

Fenris nodded, taking the bottle. “Eventually, yes. We want to go to Kirkwall, first.”

Dorian’s face broke into a grin. “You’re going to Kirkwall? Oh, that’s marvelous! It’s a bit of a shithole, but Varric’s there. And, he’s Viscount. And, you’ll see your friends. I wish I could go with you.”

“So come,” Anders encouraged. He took the bottle from Fenris.

“I can’t delay getting to the Magisterium. In the presence of a vacuum, little factions form to create power plays; cliques begin lobbying for their interest. Arriving late could be like walking into an fire-fight.”

“Are they gonna try to assassinate you, too?” Anders was worried. “Maybe we should go with you. Fenris can keep you safe.”

Dorian took the bottle. “You are so precious... wanting to take care of me. I’m too new to be a threat. They’ll wait to see how I play-out. They don’t want to kill a potential ally before they know my platform.” He looked at Fenris. “You had better take excellent care of him. He’s the only member of the Pavus family that has ever cared what happened to me....” Dorian’s voice roughened, and he took another drink from the bottle. “My precious little brother.”

Fenris and Anders stared at him a moment, then broke into laughter. “You’ve had enough,” Fenris said, taking the bottle. 

“I’m older than you,” Anders said, indignantly. 

“How old are you?” asked Fenris.

“I’ll have forty-two years this autumn. How old are you? Oh... you don’t know....”

“You age well, my mage.” Fenris nuzzled Anders’ ear.

“Kaffas... the two of you are the most libidinous pair.... how can you not know how old you are?”

“When he got the lyrium, it wiped his memory,” Anders answered. Fenris continued his nuzzling.

“Fasta vass! I... how did I not know this?”

“It never came up,” Anders said, chuckling at Fenris’ tickling breath.

“Stop it, Elf... I won’t have you two rutting beneath me. That’s horrendous, that you lost your memory.”

Fenris reluctantly left off his nuzzling. “Everything about Danarius was horrendous.”

Anders’ face suddenly lit up. “Do you remember losing your last molars?”

Fenris looked confused. “My teeth? I don’t remember losing any teeth.”

Anders grinned. “Elves lose their last childhood molars around seventeen or eighteen. So, you were at least that old when you got the lyrium. And, you were with Danarius for four years before you ran. And, you ran three years before you met Hawke. So... you’re a bit younger than me.”

“I am the venerable age of thirty-three,” Dorian announced.

Anders laughed. “My precious little brother.”

Dorian pulled the bottle from Fenris with some difficulty. “When will you leave for the Free Marches?”

“The very moment you leave for Minrathous,” Anders answered. “I’m not missing you anymore than I have to.”

“Dear Varric,

“Anders and I are leaving for Kirkwall in a month’s time. Dorian sends his regards, but is traveling to Minrathous when we leave. He has inherited his father’s seat in the Magisterium. 

“Thank you for procuring my old home. I’m happy to know it is there for us. I’ll see about obtaining new brigand corpses when I arrive.

“We would enjoy visiting anyone from the old days who is there. Perhaps you could pass on that Anders isn’t comfortable with touch from most people. A wave and greeting will be better received than a hug or handshake.

“We look forward to viewing the changes your reign has brought to the fair city of Kirkwall. 

“You can try to win your five sovereigns back in a game of Wicked Grace.

“Fenris.”

The month before the men left for their separate destinations passed too quickly. Anders assured his various correspondents knew of his coming temporary change of address. Things were progressing in his Grey Warden research project, and he didn’t want to delay it any more than necessary. Fenris would help him with continuing his communication.

Dorian was making contacts and alliances with regard to his new Magistrate position. Now that he actually had power, some of his more tepid connections warmed considerably. His friend and fellow magister, Maevaris Tilani, happily awaited his arrival. Hearing of her reputation in the Magisterium put Anders and Fenris both at ease for Dorian’s safety. He had a powerful ally in her.

Numerous trips were made into the city for supplies, correspondence, and an unusual visit to a healer. This visit wasn’t for one of the men, but for Tigris. Anders was pleasantly surprised to learn that a whole division of healing magic had been developed in Tevinter, focused on small pets. 

Dorian explained the phenomenon. There were many wealthy citizens in the Imperium. With marriage and child-rearing reduced to the level of breeding prize stock, few nobles had the affection and love most would find in family. Pets were highly valued. Love and devotion could be openly showered on a cat or lap-dog, with no fear of reprisal or loss of status. So, small animal veterinary magic found a niche.

Tigris was healthy, growing like a weed, and spoiled by her two people. She was also nearing the age of her first heat. There was no question of whether or not she was coming with them to Kirkwall. Even so, Anders had no desire to travel with a yowling, posturing cat-in-heat; never mind the increased risk of her running off and getting lost. 

A trip in a lovely, decorative crate proved exciting for the young cat. She watched with inquisitive grey eyes as the carriage took them through the countryside and into the city. The Healer was adept at handling her, and happy to have another Healer to talk with, after a fashion. Fenris did the actual talking. Anders felt himself puff with pride when the Healer complimented Tigris’ coat, eyes and general health. The Healer treated her with a neutering potion. If Anders ever wanted her to breed, a counter-potion could be given. As it was, she would not, now, go into heat. 

Eating at an open-air restaurant, they waited for Dorian to finish his meeting at the Circle. Tigris’ kennel sat on the end of the table, from which she stretched her paw slyly to try to snag bits of food from their plates. When Dorian appeared, he had a stranger at his side. Anders and Fenris stood.

“I’d like you to meet Belus Wallus. Belus, Anders and Fenris, of House Pavus.” Anders’ eyes widened, but he managed to nod before he broke his gaze. Fenris, surprised to be included in the House designation, gave an appropriate greeting. As they all sat, Anders took Fenris’ hand under the table. 

Wallus was speaking. “I understand you’re all leaving, soon. I apologize for arriving at your table unexpectedly. I had hoped to meet you before you left.” Wallus bore little resemblance to his son, Anders was relieved to note. He cast glances at the man, able to meet his gaze for short periods. “Anders, I understand speaking is difficult for you. I do wish to apologize to both of you on behalf of my youngest. I had no idea....”

Fenris was surprised that he was included in the apology. He was a slave, after all. He managed to murmur an acceptance. He saw Anders nod in acknowledgment. 

Dorian was speaking. “Belus brings me news, that I think you’ll be interested to hear. The four names you gave me, men who’d also attended Danarius’ little parties... have all been brought up on charges of assault.” Anders and Fenris looked at each other in confusion. “Not for you, sadly. But, for others. Apparently, they have a bit of a club, attending similar parties on a seasonal basis. A pair of young men, sons of a magister, were the would-be victims. They had snuck into the gathering, on a whim, dressed as servants. Fortunately, they were able and willing to resist the attack, and reported the party-goers to their father. Quite an embarrassment, for everyone.”

Anders was blinking rapidly in surprise. He was relieved the boys weren’t hurt, but disgusted they had wanted to attend such a party so badly they’d snuck in. He was thrilled the men who had hurt he and Fenris were meeting justice. He gave a small chuckle at that. Justice.

Fenris nodded. “Perhaps this will curtail their desire for such activity. I doubt they’ll get more than a slap on the hand.”

Wallus sighed. “You’re probably right. But, the situation has brought the plight of those abused under their masters and employers to light. The timing couldn’t be better.”

Anders spoke to Dorian. “Those young men could be valuable allies. They won’t forget what happened. They can influence their father, and one day, hold power, themselves.”

Dorian nodded. “My thoughts, exactly, Anders.”

“But, there were others. Men whose names we don’t know. Men still out there.”

The drive home, Anders found himself with his mouth worrying Fenris’ neck. 

“What is it?” Fenris asked. “Was meeting Wallus difficult?”

He shook his head. “Just... thinking of the others. The ones still out there. What they did. What they’re probably still doing. Sometimes the world seems terrifying.” His mouth found the elf’s neck, again, and Fenris pulled him close.

“It always has been. You just know the true depth of its terror. You still alright with leaving?”

Anders nodded. “You’ll be with me.”

Fenris stroked the mage’s hair. “Every step.”

Anders and Fenris made several trips to the city without Dorian. Traveling without him had them nervous, at first. In time, they lost that anxiety, and simply went about their business. Each time they returned, he met them on the veranda; shepherding them in like a mother hen. 

One evening, Dorian pulled a small box from his pocket. 

“I’m not normally a sentimental man. I am, however, quite vain. So, don’t read more into this than you should.” The box contained three small, gold, hoop earrings. 

“You’ve obviously had a pierced ear, before,” he gestured to Anders. “The scar still shows. Fenris’ ears are a palette waiting to be decorated. And, I? I would simply look dashing in a fine gold earring. What say we make an evening of it?”

Anders was thrilled. “You’re fooling no one, Dorian. This is a mark of brotherhood.”

“Hush. So help me, if you make me tear-up, I’ll put your ring through your nose.”

Fenris was beyond delighted. Jewelry and decoration were not things he had ever cared for. But, this. This symbol of the brotherhood he shared with these two men.... He was not, formally, a member of the Pavus family. But, the connection he shared with Dorian went beyond titles and names. The small pain of the needle piercing his lobe seemed like a birthing into his small family. 

Once they each had their hoop in place, Anders healed the holes. They stood at the mirror, smiling.

“Fasta vass. I wear it well,” Dorian gushed. “It’s no surprise. I wear everything well.”

“How do you have room to eat, as full of yourself as you are?” Fenris teased, still grinning at their matched hoops.

“Growing up with my parents, you learn to coddle yourself. Besides, it’s true. You can’t say it’s not.”

Anders tugged Dorian’s earring. “Precious little brother.”

Dorian swatted his hand away. “I should have put it through your nose, on general purposes.”

The day of departure arrived. The morning began with Anders belly-down on their bed, sobbing. He didn’t want comforting or cosseting. He knew why he was crying, and there was nothing that would change it. Oh, he knew he could decide to go with Dorian, but he wasn’t going to. He wanted to go to Kirkwall. And, he wanted Dorian to begin his tenure in the Magisterium. He also knew he would miss him, terribly.

Dorian came to find them for breakfast. He saw Fenris sitting beside the prostrate Anders. With a wry smile, he climbed on the bed, and put arms around him.

“Alright, precious little brother. You’re going to be fine.”

“I’m older than you,” Anders muttered through his tears.

Regardless of what he claimed he didn’t want, Anders found himself being nestled between Dorian and Fenris, in a three-way snuggle. It helped, surprisingly. After an hour or so of sniffles, talk and finally, laughter, they all rose from the bed feeling better for it. 

Dorian’s trip would take him north to Qarinus, where he would stay briefly at his mother’s estate. He would then travel by ship to Minrathous. Most of the house staff had gone ahead to prepare the capital estate. A few would stay to manage this one.

Anders and Fenris would take the same route that Eve, Cullen and the Chargers had taken; south through Nevarra, to the Waking Sea. Then, a boat would take them to Kirkwall. 

Two carriages stood out front, facing opposite directions. Both were packed in short order. The three men stood on the veranda, reluctant to leave.

Dorian held out a small pouch. “Take this.” Fenris took the pouch. “It’s a sending crystal. Eve has one like it. If you hold it in your hand, and speak my name, it will connect with mine. I can contact you the same way. If your crystal vibrates, then by all that’s holy, pick it up and speak to me.” He took out his handkerchief and blotted his eyes. “I’ve not gone an entire day without your company in nearly a year. I haven’t the foggiest how I’ll manage, now.”

Fenris bit his lip, feeling tears threaten. Anders threw himself into Dorian’s arms, sobbing once again. Dorian forgot to care about making an emotional display. He held Anders and wept freely. Both men opened one arm, and drew Fenris into their huddle. As he wrapped his arms about them both, in return, his tears joined theirs.

Cried out, they all stood with foreheads touching, arms about one another. 

Dorian spoke into their joined space. “You two will be fine. You’re strong, grown men, taking the world back under your terms. Oh, I envy your adventure.”

“You’re going to do great things, Dorian,” Fenris said. “Tell us on the sending crystal. In time, you’ll tell us in person.”

“I miss you, already,” Anders wept. They all fell into tight embrace, again. 

Finally, they parted. Handkerchiefs and sleeves dried eyes. Dorian put a hand on a shoulder of each. 

 “Come back,” he said.

They returned his gesture.

“We will,” they replied.

He quirked a corner of his mouth, then turned and mounted the carriage. The driver chirruped the horses, and he was on his way.

Anders and Fenris couldn’t stand to watch him leave. They climbed into their own carriage, tears flowing. The house fell behind them. 

As they drove in the opposite direction Dorian had gone, they leaned into one another’s arms. Tears poured down Anders’ face. He knew Dorian wasn’t leaving them, he was just changing places. They were traveling to see old friends who cared about them. Most important, they had each other. Fenris pulled Anders into the crook of his neck, sighing when he felt the mage’s mouth against his skin. He closed his eyes, and let himself be soothed by the gentle sensation.

Fenris had forgotten how much of adventuring was simple, dull travel. Point A to Point B was often boring, arduous, and dusty. Admittedly, traveling as wealthy men took out all but the dust. The Imperial Highway was well-traveled. Even as they traveled through the Silent Plains, small villages appeared at regular intervals. Even the smallest of them had a respectable inn, with rooms for their driver, and themselves. 

Dorian activated the Sending Crystal the first night. They were full of wonder at the thing. It was as though he were in the room with them. They had little to tell him, but simply hearing his voice gave them great cheer. When they disconnected, Anders wept. He’d spent much of the day quietly crying. Fenris pulled him close, and kissed the tears from his cheeks. Those small kisses grew into amorous ones. Anders was exceptionally fervent in his lovemaking. Nervous energy and strong emotions found release in their pleasure. 

Fenris held his mage in the afterglow, stroking his hair, breathing his scent. “How do you feel?”

Anders took a deep breath and let it go. “Strange. At loose ends. Free. Uncertain. Excited.”

Fenris chuckled. “My emotional mage. I’m so happy to be on this journey with you.” 

He suddenly gasped and grabbed at his ear. A furry streak of grey bounded over them, and across the room. Anders dissolved into laughter. 

“She’s a terror, that tiny tigris,” Fenris grumbled, rubbing his ear. Anders leaned over him, and healed the scratches her claws had made on the point of his ear.

“She’s not so tiny, anymore. She gets into hunting mode at night, just like a big kitty.”

“She should hunt your ears for a while, and give mine a rest,” the elf said.

The drive to the coast was uneventful. Blessedly, happily, uneventful. They missed Dorian acutely. As the days passed, Anders’ weeping ceased, and he sought comfort less. Tigris rode in her crate on the seat opposite them, her grey eyes watching the world outside her reach. 

“She has Dorian’s eyes,” Anders said, one afternoon.

“I’m not surprised. She has most of my ears,” Fenris replied. 

Anders laughed. “Really, hers have the same grey coloring that his do.”

“I suppose they do. I also think you're romanticizing him a bit.”

“So, what if I am? I miss him. Sometimes, it’s palpable.”

“I know. I miss him, too. You’re just better at expressing it than I.” 

They spent the long days in the carriage playing cards, reading, talking, kissing. Hours of kissing, with no thought to take it further. Simple, intimate, pleasurable connection. 

They spoke with Dorian every-other night, or so. His visit with his mother was less than congenial, as he’d expected. He was boarding his boat to Minrathous in a couple of days. “I’d forgotten,” he said, “There’s a lovely blanketing of moss along the northern coast. The most verdant green. It brings to mind the color of Fenris’ eyes.” Anders poked the elf and stifled a snicker. He missed them, as much they missed him.

Boarding their boat in a much more decorous manner than the last, Anders was amazed at the opulence. The ship was the largest he had been on. Although, having been on two, he supposed he didn’t have much with which to compare it. They and their luggage were escorted to a rich cabin. It reminded him of their first room at Dorian’s estate; a common room and attached bath. 

They lay on their bed, and simply breathed. The boat and port were bringing up some memories they had never considered, before now.

“Where were you when we were brought from Kirkwall?” Anders asked.

“In a transport cage in the hold. Where were you?”

“The same, I think. I could only see out some holes in the roof. I couldn’t use magic.”

Fenris grunted. “Sounds like a suppression cage. I never heard you. I wondered where you were.”

“I thought you were with Denarius.”

“No. But, before I ran from him, I always traveled in his cabin on boats.”

“Was he always as terrible as he was when we were with him?”

“In general, no. He was more sociable, then. Brilliant. He was in decline by the time he took us. In his pleasures, yes. He was always terrible. Except... it was worse, when we were with him. Being witness to your abuse nearly killed me, every time.” He shuddered, and rolled into Anders’ arms. His mouth found the mage’s neck.

Anders held him, remembering the terror of the journey from Kirkwall. “I had no idea where we were going, why I was there, what would happen to me.” He ran his fingers through the elf’s silky hair. “I’d go through it all again, if it meant I could have you.”

Fenris lifted his head. “You can’t mean that. I’d rather you still hated me, than for you to have ever gone through that.”

Anders shook his head. “You are the only thing that matters, Fenris. I would die for you, kill for you, suffer Danarius for you.” His fingers gently traced his features. “You’re everything precious in this world. There’s no price I wouldn’t pay to be with you.”

Fenris kissed him, long and tenderly. “Love me....”

Anders smiled, eyes moist. “Of course....”

When not otherwise occupied in their cabin, the pair stayed above deck as much as possible. Fenris tanned darker than he already was, his lyrium markings standing out in more striking relief. Anders gained a bit of color, but mostly cultivated a crop of freckles from sitting in the sun. He would have been blistered from sunburn, but for healing his skin every few hours. 

The ship was designed as a passenger transport, and catered to many wealthy travelers. The deck had chairs and pillows scattered on it, and servants waited on the passengers as they enjoyed the sun and air. Relaxing in the warm sea breeze was delightful. 

“I’ve been thinking, Anders.”

“I noticed.”

“What you said, about how being left in the cell makes you fear you’ll be abandoned. It’s more than that.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Just based on what you’ve told me, you’ve been abandoned your whole life. Your father turned you in to the Templars. Somehow, no one at the Circle even knew your name. Karl was sent away while you were lovers. You were put in isolation for a year. You had to leave the Wardens after you joined with Justice. Hawke gave you to Danarius. You lost contact with Justice with the suppression collar. I didn’t like that spirit being in you, Anders... but he must have been important to you.”

The mage was thoughtful for a moment. “Maker’s breath. My life was seriously screwed up.”

“Yes. You were so strong, my Anders, to come through it as well as you did. Still, it’s no wonder you fear being abandoned.” He turned to look at the mage. “I will never leave you.”

He quirked a small grin. “I know.”

In their cabin at night, the elf counted Anders’ freckles.

“I love them. They’re adorable.”

“Are they? That’s good to know.”

“You know you’re beautiful.”

“I don’t know that I do. I also don’t care. As long as you think I’m worth looking at....”

“Looking at, listening to, touching, tasting, smelling... you’re a feast for the senses, mage.”

“Hungry?”

“I am. Undress.”

Finally, the day came that the giant black wall surrounding the harbor and city of Kirkwall loomed into view. The pair stood at the railing, watching as features became clear. 

The Twins were next, flanking the channel through the wall. 

Finally, the ship slowly made its way through the channel and into the harbor. Ravens circled above, and roosted in the nooks and crannies of the wall. Voices called across the docks and water. High up, at the top of the city, the silhouettes of the Viscount's Keep and the Chantry stood clear.

They had arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter that had me bawling as I wrote parts of it. The goodbye scene on the veranda made me a mess. 
> 
> I had to touch on Anders' abandonment issues, again. Just needed to. Thanks for bearing with me.
> 
>  
> 
> to be continued....


	22. Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirkwall holds many memories. And, a dwarf.

The Docks looked much as they remembered. Fenris stood at the rail as the boat maneuvered for position. He glanced at the mage next to him. Anders hadn’t said a word since they had taken their position at the railing to watch the city come into view.

“Are you alright?”

“I don’t know.” His voice was quiet. “Maybe we shouldn’t have come.” 

Fenris put his arm around him. “Why is that?”

“There’s so many memories. So many people. So many things I can’t anticipate.”

“You’ve done fine on the boat. That was new, too. And, it brought up memories.”

“A boat's an isolated island. The city.... don’t you feel it? The voices from time? The memories in the stones of the streets and buildings?”

Fenris let himself feel. Yes. They were there. Not as close to the surface for him as for Anders, possibly. “I feel them. We spent a decade here. There are going to be memories. We can do this, Anders. Let’s just get to the mansion. We can figure it out, there.”

Anders nodded, his face doubtful.

Stepping off of the gangway, the smell was his first memory jolted. 

“Fish. Bah.” Fenris wrinkled his nose. A group of porters for-hire stood near the gangway, awaiting employ. He gestured for a few to handle their luggage, and led the way to Hightown. Anders was solidly plastered against his side, small twitches in his face. “It’s alright, my mage. Just breathe.”

Before they even made it to the steps to Lowtown, they came face-to-face with Hawke. A statue of The Champion of Kirkwall stood at the entrance to the Docks. A flame held high, one foot on the head of the Arishok, it took them by surprise. Candles and melted wax surrounded the base. The city still loved him.

“I’d forgotten about this,” Fenris muttered. 

“I suppose he did defeat the Arishok,” the mage said. 

Fenris pulled him along. “He once did many good things. Before he did the worst.”

Passing through Lowtown as quickly as they could, they took back-stairways and alleys. They weren’t ready to face much, yet. Sounds, smells, sights, all set loose a myriad of memories in their minds. 

Hightown was the same. For a large city, it seemed every street, every building, had a memory branded into it. By the time they made it to their house, Fenris was beginning to feel some of Anders’ anxiety. He pulled out the key Varric included in his second letter, and let them into their sanctuary. Anders was shaking. Fenris paid the porters, then sent one to get goods at the market. He closed the door, and pulled Anders into an embrace. “We’re safe. Let’s unpack, and when the food arrives, we can lock ourselves in until we feel up to facing the past.” Anders nodded.

Fenris had to give it to Varric. The house was repaired, clean, and updated. The decor remained the same. Same statues, paintings, and tiles. It smelled substantially better. He decided it must be the absence of mummified remains and broken wine bottles. 

The kitchen actually looked as though a meal could be prepared in it. The rooms were clean, if empty. His room, the only one he’d ever inhabited, still contained the same furnishings. His bed, table, benches... all repaired and upright. A fire was laid, waiting to be lit. As a nice touch, a bottle of wine sat on the table.

Fenris nodded approvingly. “The dwarf did well,” he said. They set about unpacking their belongings. Tigris was released from her cage to zip off and explore her new surroundings. When the porter returned with several large packages from the grocers, they stored it in the kitchen, and retired to their room. As on the boat that first day, they lay on the bed and just breathed. 

“Are you truly sorry we came?” Fenris asked.

Anders sighed. “No. I’m truly sorry I’m so anxious about every-damned-thing. I thought we were coming to visit old friends. Instead, I’m visiting old pain. Why do I have to be such a mess all the time? Why can’t I just let shit go?”

Fenris ran his fingers through Anders' honey-colored hair. “You feel things strongly, my mage. I had a hard time coming through town, too. There’s so much to remember. Some of it’s not pleasant.”

“Did you see Hawke’s old estate?”

“Hard to miss.”

“This whole town is full of Hawke. I thought I’d dealt with his memory. Now, it’s on our doorstep.” 

“We can take all the time in the world to decide that we’re ready to face this city. It’s not going anywhere.”

They lay and soothed one another until the sending crystal vibrated.

Dorian was still on a boat. He was horribly bored. He was happy to hear they were in Fenris’ mansion in Kirkwall. He asked how they were doing, so far.

“Anders is upset with himself,” Fenris confided. “He thinks he's a mess. I don't agree.”

Dorian replied, “Anders, each time you feel this way, it breaks my heart. When you criticize yourself, you criticize one of my favorite people. I won’t stand for it.”

“Every time I think I’m getting stronger, I fall apart for some dumb reason,” Anders said.

“You are strong. You left home, and got on that boat, and marched yourself through Kirkwall. That took strength.”

“You and Fenris never feel like that," Anders said. Fenris snorted.

Dorian’s laugh filled the room. “In that, you are so very wrong. We may be more practiced at hiding our emotions than you, but be assured, we feel it. Precious little brother, accept yourself as you are, fear and all. Because, who you are, is remarkable.”

It was supper time before they got up, again. Anders dogged Fenris. The elf was happy to keep him close. When Fenris sat on the tabletop in the kitchen, Anders pushed his way to straddle his lap. 

"Dorian's right," Fenris said, as they fed each other cheese and bread. "I get scared, too. You know that."

Anders swallowed his mouthful. "You don't show it."

"I did when Wallus cornered me. Remember how strong you were, then?"

Anders shrugged. "Fine. Once. You're always so calm. Always watching out for me."

"I had more time with Danarius. He was exacting in regard to my behavior. I barely let myself feel anything, until I'd been away from him for many years. You're naturally more expressive. And, you were hurt worse." He popped a piece of bread into Anders' mouth. "My beautiful mage, don't be so quick to hurt yourself with your own thoughts. You've had pain enough."

Fenris was awakened by gentle, insistent tugging on his earlobe. Cracking an eyelid, he saw Anders’ gleaming, honey-brown eyes. The mage was pulling at his earring. “Wha-?” he grunted sleepily.

“Wake up. It’s time to see this damned city.”

“Why so early?”

“No time like the present. It also doesn’t smell as bad, early in the morning.”

He yawned. "Good point.”

Having restored themselves, this walk through town was easier than their arrival. They noticed that Hawke’s old place looked as though it was being lived-in. The Blooming Rose was still in business. Hightown seemed to have more dwarven faces. They wondered if a dwarf Viscount was a draw for his race to the city. 

It was a strange sense of deja vu. Some things hadn’t changed at all. Some things were entirely new. Fenris was in rapture over a new Orlesian delicacy shop. He picked-up a box of candied dates. Anders teased him. Dorian had gotten him addicted to the things.

They decided to dig up and defeat as many memories as possible, before contacting Varric. Over the next several days, they walked the city streets. Sometimes memories came, sometimes they didn’t. Sometimes the memories were painful, sometimes they weren’t.

The Foundry drew their attention, for two reasons. First, it was the site of Leandra’s terrifying death; and the supposed birth of Hawke’s madness. Second, it was operating at full capacity. 

“Varric’s got it running full-bore,” Anders commented. “He’ll leave no revenue unturned.”

“Perhaps he means to have something come out of it besides bad memories.”

“That, too. Do you think, if Hawke’s mother hadn’t died the way she did....”

“That Hawke wouldn’t have done what he did? I don’t know. What happened here was tragic. I’ve been second-guessing Hawke’s motivations for years, now. We’ll probably never know.”

Fully armed and armored, they ventured into Darktown. Instead of the overcrowded, filthy settlement of poor, it was abandoned, though not entirely empty. In areas flanking the half-wall, where the risk of chokedamp was less, large tracts of mushrooms grew. Several dwarves managed small crews tending to the farms.

“Wow. Apparently, some vital personnel from Orzammar do make it to the surface,” Anders said. "But, where are the people? You don’t think Varric had them run out, do you?”

Fenris thought. “It’s hard to imagine him doing that. When we finally see him, we’ll ask.”

Anders’ old clinic was gone. The walls torn down, it had old campfires dissolving into the dirt where it had stood. “Makes me even more grateful that Varric gathered our things, for us.”

“How are you feeling, my mage?”

Anders shrugged. “Fine. I didn’t expect to find much. I’m more concerned about the people who lived here.”

The Chantry was beautiful. The exterior stonework had been scrubbed until it nearly gleamed. The interior was just as fine. New tapestries, fresh candle-holders, polished pews. Anders stood, gazing about with a confused look on his face.

“What is it?” Fenris asked.

The mage shook his head. “I don’t know. Something I can’t remember. Something important. Something terrible.”

“The night Seamus and Petrice were killed?” Fenris asked.

“No. It's not so much something that did happen. It feels like something that was going to happen. I can’t remember.” He sighed. “These memory-holes are frustrating.”

Walking through Lowtown, they stopped and looked at the entrance to the Hanged Man. The same sign hung above the door, although the edges looked slightly charred. The same smell of vomit and urine wafted from the nearby alleyways as had years ago. 

Anders deadpanned. “Ahh. The ambiance.”

“The Hanged Man’s particular bouquet,” Fenris said. “How you feeling?”

The mage shrugged. “Nervous. Ambivalent. Nauseated. You?”

“You pretty much nailed it.”

Anders tugged on Fenris’ hand, and led him to the door.

It was quiet, so early in the morning. They stood in the doorway, and took it in. It was brighter, inside. New paint gave light to the room. The floor was new, as well. Varric was right. The blood stains were all relatively recent. Everything looked newer and cleaner. He must have had to replace most of the interior. 

The stairway to the second floor drew Fenris’ eyes. It was there that Danarius had appeared, so many years ago. The room wavered before him. Voices from the past echoed in his mind.

\--‘Ah, my little Fenris. Predictable as always.’--

Hawke at his side. Fenris counted on him to help.

\--‘If you want him, he’s yours.’--

His heart breaking. His hope gone.

\--‘Take the abomination with you, while you’re at it.’--

The elf reached for Anders, pulling him close, keeping him safe. Fenris couldn’t breathe.

“Fenris? Fenris... sit down. Come on, right here.” He felt Anders pulling him to a table, pushing him onto a bench. “Breathe, love. We’re alright. I’m right here.”

Fenris pulled air into his lungs, held the mage tightly. “He should never have sent you with him.”

“Love, he should never have sent either of us. But, he did. And, now, we’re alive, and we're together, and they’re both dead.”

Fenris dropped his head to Anders’ shoulder, breathing deeply. “Oh, my Anders. Are you alright?”

“Better than you, right now. I can imagine how you felt that day, seeing him come down the stairs.”

Fenris nodded, feeling Anders’ warmth against his cheek. “Yes. You can. There’s no one else who could.... I feel sick.”

“Do you need to leave?”

“No. I need to outlast the memory.”

The waitress came by, looking askance at the two men clinging to each other. Anders held up two fingers, hoping she’d understand. She did, bringing two ales. 

After several minutes, Fenris raised his head. “I want to see upstairs.”

“To make sure he’s not there?”

“Yes.”

He wasn’t. All that was upstairs were empty rental rooms and a clean hallway. The first door at the top of the stairs had a plaque that read “Viscount’s Villa”. Fenris looked at it and shook his head. 

“We’re safe, here,” he decided. He pulled Anders close and kissed him soundly. “We’re together, and they’re both dead.” 

Fenris drank his ale, fortifying his strength. The tavern was losing its memory, the voices had faded. “They’re stocking better ale,” he commented. “You’re not drinking yours?”

“It’s mid-morning.”

“Can’t think of a better time, at the moment.” He took a last drink, then set down his mug. “It’s better, but it’s still not good.”

“Come on,” Anders said. “Let’s find some decent wine to stock the mansion.”

Many smaller memories came as they walked through town. Conversations, arguments, events. Occasionally, they brought humor. 

“Remember Merrill with that ball of string, leaving a trail to find her way home?” Anders asked.

“Remember Isabela, never wearing pants?” Fenris asked.

“I remember her trying to guess the color of your underclothes. She had a thing for you, I think.”

“She had a thing for danger. I seemed dangerous.”

“You seemed downright lethal.”

“I was. I still am.”

“You know... I’m beginning to see why that worked for her.”

Fenris laughed. “Remember when Aveline tried to court Donnic?”

“Not very well. One of those memory-holes, I guess.” 

“Just as well. It was painful to watch.”

Finally, an evening came when they decided to brave the crowd at the Hanged Man, and see if Varric showed up. 

It looked like a typical crowd for the evening. They walked in the door, and looked for an open table. A voice carried over the crowd.

“No shit... there I was....” 

Both came to a dead stop. Standing before the hearth, a small crowd surrounding him, was a dwarf. Their dwarf. Standing on a low stool to allow his voice to carry over the crowd, he was deep in the drama of one of his unlikely tales. 

There was an unfamiliar scar across his nose. But, it was Varric. As he swept his arms wide in a theatrical gesture, his eyes cast over them. His oration came to an abrupt halt. 

As the three men stared across the tavern, Fenris bolted forward. He pushed through the crowd, and enveloped Varric in his arms. 

Varric’s expression was one of surprised disbelief. As his eyes met Anders’, he grinned ear-to-ear, and returned the elf’s embrace. Anders smiled, and watched as Fenris crushed the dwarf.

Anders could hardly sit still. An ale sat before him, untouched.

“Go ahead, Blondie. This is the good stuff, reserved for foreign dignitaries.”

Anders shook his head, smiling at the dwarf sitting across from him. He dropped his gaze, grinning at the table. 

Varric laughed. “You two made my weary heart smile, showing up like you did.My contacts told me you'd shown up at your place. I was waiting for you to decide you were ready to meet. Took you long enough.”

“We’ve been... meeting memories,” Fenris said.

“I’ll bet. There’s plenty around. Damn, you two look good. Seems like Sparkler’s treating you right, then?”

Fenris took a sip of Anders' ale. “Dorian? He’s our brother. He was our savior. He’s a man among men. There are none finer.” 

“You wrote that he’s been made a magister?”

Fenris nodded, offering the cup back to the mage. “His father was assassinated. Dorian’s going to make changes in his country. He has plans in motion to reform Tevinter. He’s already working on slave freedom and rights.”

Varric nodded. “I’m gonna have to come up with a new nickname for him. The man has substance. You settled alright into your place?”

“Yes. Thank you, Varric. It’s good to be back in my home. It was the first place that was ever mine. Varric... we can never thank you enough for looking for us.” Both Fenris and Anders looked at the dwarf with sincere eyes.

“Ahh... You’d do the same for me. I couldn’t not look. I’m just damn happy to have you sitting here, in the Hanged Man, with me.”

There was silence for a moment as they sifted through thoughts and sipped their ale.

“Who’s living in the Amell estate?” Fenris asked.

Varric shook his head. “Gamlen. He inherited Hawke’s fortune and property. Word is, he’s working through it pretty fast.”

Anders laughed bitterly, and frowned into his cup. 

Fenris looked carefully at Anders, judging his mood. “We’re not fans of Hawke.”

“Yeah. I get that. If I were in your shoes... well, even if I’m not in your shoes. Hawke did you wrong. He did a lot of things wrong, at the end. Things not to be forgiven.”

“I could have forgiven a lot, Varric. But, not what happened to Anders.”

The mage looked at Fenris with tear-filled eyes, and spoke. “Or, what happened to you.” 

Fenris gave him a gentle kiss, and the tears overflowed.

"I'm sorry," Varric said. "I shouldn't have brought it up."

Anders shook his head, wiping his eyes.

"No," Fenris said. "It's not you. Anders feels things strongly." The elf ran his fingers into the mage's hair.

Varric watched them with a small smile. “I wondered if seeing you two together might seem weird. But, you know, it doesn't. I always say, it’s the ones who fight the worst that end up loving the best.”

Fenris smiled. "The love comes easy."

Anders took his hand, smiling back. 

"Maker, this would be such good material," Varric muttered. "You know, Blondie, for someone who doesn't talk much, you sure have people who want to talk to you."

Anders looked confused.

"A letter arrived for you a week ago by royal messenger; it's waiting in my office. Since when are you pen-pals with the King of Ferelden?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter fought me for a while. Then, it just swooped down and planted itself on the page.
> 
> Swooping isn't always bad.
> 
>  
> 
> to be continued....


	23. Dwarves and Kings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The three friends reacquaint with one another.
> 
> All three find out what's on King Alistair's mind.

Anders’ mouth dropped open.

“Yeah, that’s about the look I had when the letter was delivered. So, you weren’t expecting it, I take it?”

Anders shook his head slowly. He turned and looked at Fenris.

“Don’t look at me. I didn’t write to him, either. Is this about the Grey Warden project you’re working on?”

Anders shrugged.

“You want to come pick it up, tonight?” Varric asked.

Anders shook his head. 

“OK. Why don’t you come by, tomorrow, around lunch, to get it. We’ll eat, and I’ll give you a quick tour of the city, with narration.”

“You have time in your day for that?” Fenris asked.

“To take a foreign dignitary on a tour? Winning over a Tevinter magister to our Southern ways? No better way to spend my time.”

Fenris grinned. “He’s an Altus, not a magister.”

“Whatever. Sparkler said that, all the time. Now look. Magister! If Anders is an Altus, what are you?”

There was a loud thump as Anders’ head hit the table in misery.

Fenris laughed, and rubbed the groaning mage's back. “I’m still a slave, in Tevinter.”

“Why? Didn’t Dorian buy you both from Danarius’ estate? Couldn’t he free you?”

Anders wrapped his arms about his head.

Varric looked at the mage in confusion. “What’s with Blondie?”

“It’s complicated. Anders was adopted into the Pavus Family. But, the only way I can remain in Tevinter, and be safe from enslavement by another magister, is if I’m owned by a strong family.”

“So, Dorian still owns you?”

“No....”

“I do...” came Anders’ miserable voice. Varric and Fenris looked at each other in surprise.

Anders lifted his head. “I hate it, and if Fenris hadn’t insisted on it, I would never have done it. According to Imperial law, Fenris is my slave.”

Varric’s abrupt, loud, laughter caused heads to turn throughout the tavern. Fenris chuckled with him.

“I’m glad you both think this is so damn funny,” Anders complained.

“Blondie--first off--I’m just so tickled that the cat let loose your tongue. And, second--Andraste’s tits, that is the funniest damned thing I’ve ever heard!” The dwarf dissolved into laughter, again.

Fenris pulled Anders to him, kissing his temple. “You have to admit, my mage, the irony is well-developed.”

“You’re both horrible people,” Anders said.

“I’m dying, over here. Oh, why can’t I use this stuff? It’s beautiful! I couldn’t make-up shit this good.”

“It doesn’t matter. Outside Tevinter, the ownership is null and void. Even in Tevinter, he’s not really my slave. He’s bossier than I am,” Anders said.

“Actually, I was thinking you two were married. What with the matching earrings, and all.” Varric was calming himself, polishing off his ale.

“It’s purely boy-girl among the Imperium’s nobles,” Anders said.

“Dorian has a matching hoop, as well. They’re symbols of brotherhood,” Fenris said.

“You meant it, huh? I’m glad. He needed family that accepted him for who he is. He’s a decent guy.”

Anders had his head in his hands. “Now, it’s going to be all over the city that I’m an evil, slave-owning, Tevinter mage.”

“Hey, I hate to say it, but it’s a step-up from apostate abomination, Blondie.”

“A huge step-up, in my opinion,” said Fenris.

“Fine. You can clean my robes when I’m spit upon.”

“First one to spit on you, loses their tongue.”

Anders gave a small smile, and blinked at the elf. “You say the sweetest things.”

“So, what was it that let you talk, O Magister?”

“Maker’s breath. My head’s not right, Varric. Let’s just get that bit of news right out there, in the open. I don’t know if there’s a reason. With Cullen, it was sort of ‘healer mode’ kicking in.”

“I think it’s because you’ve already known Varric closely for a decade. He’s in large part responsible for saving our hides. You know he’s one of the good guys.” Fenris said.

Varric put a hand over his heart. “Good guy, huh? I’m touched.”

“Or, it’s because the only thing worse than admitting that I own you, is hearing you say it,” Anders said, bitterly.

Varric chuckled. He pulled a deck of cards out of his pocket, and started shuffling. “OK, Blondie, you’ve got a voice. Let’s see if you’ve got a game.”

Fenris signaled the waitress for more drinks. “At least now, he can pay you when he loses.”

“That’s more than I can say for you, Elf. You still owe me that five sovereigns.”

At last, the dwarf, the mage, and the elf sat together over ale and a game of cards.

\------------------------------------------

Fenris’ eyes were being skewered by hot spikes. A huge weight was crushing his skull. A deafening thrum pounded into his brain. He tried to peel an eyelid open, and the spikes twisted in his sockets. 

Suddenly, cooling relief washed over him. He groaned in satisfaction, and opened his eyes. The dim light of morning was creeping through the window blind. Tigris was sleeping on his pillow, curved around his head, purring. 

“Hangover better?” asked his favorite voice in the world. He felt Tigris being shooed from the bed.

Fenris rolled into the body next to him, and embraced him in gratitude. “You’re a good mage,” he said.

Anders chuckled. “I have my moments. I’ve never seen you so drunk. I almost just had us stay with Varric in his room at the Hanged Man, rather than wrestle you home.”

Fenris made himself comfortable against his mage. “Why didn’t you?”

Anders pressed himself against the elf, erection hard against his belly. “Because I thought this might be inappropriate, come morning.”

Fenris felt his body heat at the contact. “You’re a naughty mage.”

Anders pushed the elf onto his back, lips descending to cover his. Fenris smiled inside. His mage was always ready for a fast frolic in the morning. Fenris hardly minded. He felt himself harden in response to Anders’ kiss and gyrating hips. The mage reached a hand and touched himself, casting his preparatory spell. 

Pulling Fenris’ shaft to full readiness, Anders straddled the elf, and lowered himself. Fenris moaned with happy pleasure. His mage... his beautiful mage... rode him slowly. The elf lay quiescent, letting the delightful sensation of Anders’ body roll over him. He opened his eyes, and took in the sight before him. 

The sun had managed to find its way past the blinds on the window. A beam lit upon Anders’ face, warming his already golden visage. His hair shone like burnished gold, a nimbus around his blissful face. Fenris felt his breath catch... Anders was simply resplendent in his rapture. 

The elf reached his hand to caress the mage’s face. His mage. So beautiful. The honey-hued eyes opened, half-lidded in pleasure. Fenris sat up, holding Anders against him as they moved together.

“Mine,” the elf whispered.

“Yours,” the mage replied. His hips rolled as he moved, and Fenris shuddered. “Yours,” the mage said again, moving faster.

Fenris groaned, panting, heat curling into his belly. Anders sucked at the lyrium lines on his neck, and the elf whined with the sensation. His hands slid behind the mage’s shoulders. He held Anders in place, and drove up into him. “Mine,” he gasped, “mine....”

Anders called out, head dropping back. “Maker, yes... yours... always yours....” Fenris felt the mage reach between their bodies, and grasp his own flesh. He felt the hot sheath around him tighten, and drove himself faster and harder into the mage. 

“Anders... Anders.... with me....” Fenris called. The mage cried out, spasming around the elf’s flesh. Fenris shouted, clutching Anders to him as he emptied himself into his body. “Mine... mine... mine,” he gasped. His beautiful mage. His perfect Anders. His all. His own self.

\--------------------------------

They fed each other breakfast. Berries, boiled eggs, candied dates. Without someone preparing their food, or anyone joining them for meals, they lapsed into easy indolence. Meals were generally done with minimal cooking, the food simply eaten from its packaging, no flatware or utensils. 

“Why do you think King Alistair wrote to you?” Fenris asked around a mouthful of strawberry. He held an egg to Anders’ lips, and the mage took a bite from it.

He shrugged, and swallowed. “I don’t know. I didn’t write him. Maker, I hope he’s not trying to get me back into the Wardens. I won’t go.” He popped a date into Fenris' mouth. The elf closed his eyes, moaning lightly as he chewed the delicacy. 

He opened his eyes to see Anders grinning at him. He swallowed, and the mage plundered his mouth, seeking the taste of the candied date. 

“You could just have your own date,” he chuckled. Anders shook his head.

“It tastes better on you.” He kissed him again, with more heat. Several times, now, feeding each other had evolved into fucking each other. Fenris chuckled into the kiss. 

“I’m hungry. And, last time, we knocked the milk bottle on the floor,” the elf reminded him.

Anders snorted, but sat back and poked another berry into the elf’s mouth. “If you were me, you’d want to have you, too. All. The. Time. You’re downright luscious.”

Fenris fed more egg to Anders. “Dorian was right. We are libidinous.”

“When you’re not hungry.”

“Well, all those letters Dorian was helping you write, would King Alistair have anything to do with that?”

“Umm. Maybe? Common interests, I suppose. We’ll find out, soon enough.”

\------------------------------------

“Anders of House Pavus,

“Well, things have changed, haven’t they? 

“When first I made your acquaintance, you were conscripted into the Grey Wardens by my queen. Later, became an abomination, killed a few Templars and Wardens, and disappeared without so much as a by-your-leave. Nearly broke her heart; she liked you, you know.

“Years later, I heard from Stroud that you’d been taken captive by a Tevinter magister. Do mages in the Imperium actually do that? Make other mages their slaves? As I understand, your friends were seeking aid to recover you. Whatever you’ve done in your life, it gained the devotion of some good people. Ferelden’s hands were tied, as were the Warden’s. We were in no position to help, and I’m sorry for that. 

“Now, I hear from Stroud, again. He says you’ve written him. And, he tells me you’re a Tevinter noble. Really? You’re living in the Imperium? As a Tevinter noble? Well, I hear the weather is nice there, after all. Your life has taken some strange turns. And, I know something about strange turns.

“But, you’re not just any Tevinter noble. You’re a Tevinter noble on the verge of a discovery. Which is why I started this letter, in the first place. Stroud is on his way to Warden’s Keep, as I write. As is a dwarven inventor named Dagna. And, as is my queen. Your research is apparently very promising, and is being taken to Avernus for further study. Avernus is... creepy. But, a genius in all things taint-related. If your work can bear fruit, that eccentric odd-ball will make it happen.

“As it happens, my queen has been away for some years, now, searching for a way to overcome the Calling. You have come closer to a solution than anyone. As my wife had declared she would not return without a solution, you might imagine my anticipation of the results. Not to mention, the change this could mean for all Grey Wardens, should it succeed.

“The Wardens hold no antipathy for you. They’re sort of an all-comer’s Order, as you know. I mean, you’ve met Oghren, right? So, whatever your actions before leaving, not a problem in their eyes. You could return to the Order, if you wanted. I get the feeling that you don’t. Fair enough. 

“On the downside, the Ferelden Chantry does have a problem with you. They’re touchy about mages, you know. Even touchier about mages who kill their Templars. Normally, I can’t involve myself in Chantry affairs, which makes us both very happy. However... I do have a few friends in high places. The highest of places, as it turns out.

“In light of your efforts to find a solution to the Calling, the Chantry has revoked its decree to have you taken-in on-sight. Turns out, Divine Victoria, my queen, and I go way back; betrayal, the Blight, ah, good times. Anyway, she’s willing to do a small favor for a bastard-turned-Warden-turned-King. You are welcome to return to Ferelden, as a visiting foreigner; or, permanently, to repatriate. 

“Anyhow, when you’re through with Kirkwall (Stroud says that’s where you'll be for a while), or if Tevinter loses its allure, make a trip south. Drop me a letter, should you find yourself in-country. We’ll crack a bottle, and talk about how little we miss the darkspawn. Or, even better, how little we miss the taint.

“King Alistair Theirin.

“PS:

“If you’re ever in Seheron, and run into the Arishok, tell him ‘Hello’ for me. On second thought, maybe you should just run. Yes. No shame in running for your life.”

The Viscount’s study was silent when Anders finished reading the letter aloud. Varric and Fenris stared at him. 

“Well... that’s what the letter was about,” Anders said. 

“You’re working on a cure for the Calling?” Varric asked. “Damn, they could have used that when Corypheus showed up.”

“You know what the Calling is?” Anders was surprised.

“Yeah, it’s not much of a secret, anymore. It was a prominent point in the battle against that bastard.”

“That’s what you’ve been working on? Why the secrecy?” Fenris asked.

“I didn’t want to tell you about the Calling.”

“Why?”

“Because, then you’d know I only have 15 years or less before I get mine. Well, I guess you do know, now. I didn't want to worry you.”

“Anders, I’ve known since Eve told me about the Calling, months ago.”

Anders was shocked. “She told you? And, you didn’t tell me?”

“You never brought it up, so I figured you didn’t want to talk about it. It doesn’t make me happy, believe me. I want to live to a ripe, old age together. But, I’ll take whatever I can get. Every day with you is infinite joy, my Anders. I treasure each one. When the Calling comes, I’ll go with you, with no regrets.”

Anders closed his eyes and took deep breaths. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m sure as hell not going to the Deep Roads to die. I’ll take a nice, lethal potion, and fall asleep in our own bed.”

Fenris moved from his chair, and squeezed next to Anders, holding him. “Then, that’s how it will be. We’ll both fall asleep in each other’s arms, and wake in the next realm.”

They were startled by the loud blowing of a nose. Varric sat behind his desk, wiping his nose and blinking rapidly. 

“Damn it. You two are the dictionary definition of a love story.” He tucked his handkerchief away. “I went on a mission with King Alistair, just before Cassandra dragged me to Haven. You could do worse than have him on your Wintersend gift list.” He shook his head. “You wouldn’t believe how Hawke treated him when he came to see him. Pretty much as Meredith did. It was like Hawke wanted Kirkwall to fall into chaos.”

“Perhaps he did. It sounds like Hawke was in chaos, himself. Misery loves company,” Fenris said.

“Yeah. Maybe. How'd you come up with a cure?"

"I based it off of the lyrium-purge I did for Cullen's withdrawal. The taint in Grey Wardens is slowed by the combination of lyrium with the darkspawn blood. I thought the modified potion might be able to purge the lyrium, with tainted blood attached, out of the system, the same way," Anders explained.

Fenris smiled proudly at the mage. "You are so brilliant, Anders."

Anders grinned, ducking his head. "Well, let's see if they can get it to work."

"So... you gonna go to Ferelden, then?” Varric asked.

“Not bloody likely. The Chantry and Wardens may not care about me, anymore; but, I’ve had first-hand reports of paranoia in the country. Eve and Cullen say it’s still not entirely stable,” Anders said.

“I’m gonna guess mages are treated with less fear down there, than up here. The Gallows mages were so full of fear that a lot of them turned to blood magic. Even with what I saw in Ferelden, I think it’s safer there for an openly magey-mage.”

Anders shrugged. “Maybe so. Still not as safe as Tevinter.”

Varric looked the mage up and down. Since Varric was claiming half the day to ‘host a foreign dignitary’, Anders had worn some of his more ostentatious robes. 

“Well, Blondie, you dressed for the part of a Tevinter mage. I’m guessing Sparkler picked those out for you.”

“Says the tiara-wearing dwarf.”

“It’s not a tiara. It’s a coronet. There’s a difference.” He smirked and shouldered Bianca. “Ready to see the sights?”

As they walked through the city, he filled them in on the mage rebellion. Cullen had given them a brief description of it, but he had a narrow perspective of the event. Varric, of course, had the writer’s eye-view. 

It had become a case of the two least-stable minds in the pub finally coming to blows. Orsino and Meredith’s dance of accuse-and-capitulate escalated into accuse-and-attack. A peaceful demonstration in front of the Chantry had turned ugly when a Templar struck a mage. Another mage fought back with magic, and a brawl ensued. Grand Cleric Elthina had come down from the Chantry to try and mediate, but was struck down. No one agrees how, or by whom, but her death was the catalyst for what came. Meredith ordered the Right of Annulment. 

Panic spread through the ranks of mages, and the battle engulfed the city. Mage and Templar fought in the streets. Abominations were born, and ran amuck. Innocents were killed, property destroyed. 

Hawke, by now thick-as-thieves with Meredith, with a very large mage-hating chip on his shoulder, had backed Meredith in her lunacy. Aveline, Varric, Isabela, Merrill and Sebastian had come to the aide of the mages. Unfortunately, Orsino had lost his grip in the face of desperation, and resorted to hideous blood magic. 

As Meredith and Hawke stood ready to bring down the Annulment, Meredith showed the true depths of her madness, and turned on everyone. Hawke switched sides, and the battle for survival began as the red lyrium of her blade granted the Knight Commander unprecedented powers, bringing statues to life. Eventually, it turned on Meredith, and melded with her. She still stood in the Gallows courtyard, surrounded by a protective perimeter to keep bystanders safe from the stuff. 

“It was pretty ugly,” Varric said. “Most of the mages fled, Templars went rogue. If it hadn’t been for Cullen and Aveline, the city would have fallen, completely. Between the two of them, order was eventually restored. A number of devout Templars remained with Cullen. Some mages and Tranquil requested sanctuary. The Gallows was nearly empty, for a couple years.”

As they spoke, they had made the walk to the Docks. A small boat bearing the sigil of the Viscount was sitting in wait. They boarded, and were taken across the harbor toward the Gallows.

Walking into the Gallows courtyard, the large, isolating fence was dominant. In the center of its protected area stood what looked to be a statue. A warrior, kneeling, was cast in red lyrium. 

“Well, there she is. Meredith’s last stand.” 

Fenris noticed that the statues that should have served as her backdrop, were gone. “Where are the tortured slave statues?”

“Some were destroyed when they fought for Meredith. I had them all removed. We were going to replace them with Chantry effigies. But, anything we considered just made that,” he gestured at Meredith, “seem more macabre than it already is. As a centerpiece, it pretty much dominates the room, you know?”

Commerce continued in the courtyard. Tranquil and mages, alike, sold potions and runed items. The gates to the Circle were open, mages moving in and out at will. A few Templars stood near the gates, and at the entrance to the courtyard. They barely glanced at the mage in Tevinter robes with staff on his back. 

Varric watched Anders study the gates to the Circle. “Want to go inside?”

Anders jerked. “What? No. I’m not stepping foot in another southern Circle as long as I live. At least the Imperium allows for proper education and training of mages. They aren’t imprisoned and treated with distrust.”

Varric laughed. “Damn, Blondie, you are Tevinter, aren’t you?”

“Just the good parts. I’m not going all blood-mage-elitist-Dumat-worshipper, or anything.”

“Damned right, you’re not,” Fenris grumbled.

As Varric escorted them through the rest of town, Anders asked about the Darktown inhabitents. Varric said that Darktown had been cleared-out, but not simply run-off. The denizens were provided jobs helping to build an extension to the city’s perimeter, into which they moved. An entire new neighborhood with infrastructure, shops, streets, housing. Out of the dark and damp, with employment opportunities in rebuilding and maintenance, the poor and refugees were making lives, and contributing to the city.

Fenris and Anders were astonished. “Varric, if you and Dorian could team-up, you’d cure the world of all its ills,” Anders said.

Varric shook his head, scratching under the coronet. “Kirkwall alone is headache enough for me. You can’t even imagine the work this took. The fighting for support. The whining of the nobles. Finally, the Chantry helped fund the project. I’ve got a few friends in high places; one of the same that King Alistair has. Divine Victoria endorsed my proposal for assistance, or it might never have gotten off the ground. Even at that, I called in a lot of favors and loans to get it going. It still has detractors in some corners.”

“Your friend in high places is the Divine?” Fenris asked.

“Well, I knew her when she was but a lowly spymaster. Now, she’s Divine.” 

“Even with the Divine’s approval, this was a lot of work,” Anders said.

“I can’t take all the credit. When I left for Haven, the place was a mess. Choirboy had gone back to Starkhaven. He helped to keep peace here, and assisted in recovery efforts. Have you seen the improvements in the Chantry? His doing.”

“Sebastian gave up life in the Chantry? I’m surprised,” Fenris said.

“I’m not sure what prompted him, but he took the throne. He’s still too preachy for my taste, but he’s a lot easier to bear since he went secular. I mean, come on, he helped rebuild the city. I can tolerate a lot of Maker-talk for that. He comes around every few months to visit the Chantry. Memories, you know.”

“I don’t think he liked me, much. Can’t say I cared for him, either,” Anders said.

“He was better company than Hawke, near the end. Maybe it’s just me, but boring beats crazy, any day.”

Anders and Fenris shared a look. Yes. They agreed. They’d had more than enough crazy in their life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter just rolled off the keyboard. Love it when it's like that!
> 
> The taint/lyrium stuff... just based off of what Bioware tells us about the joining (lyrium, darkspawn blood, arch demon blood). The potion, again just me.
> 
> Ain't it great to have the three together, again?
> 
>  
> 
> to be continued....


	24. Working Vacation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris and Anders explore more of the changes in their old Band of Misfits.

Anders bit back laughter. He’d never seen the elf so nonplussed. The toddler was insistent on climbing into Fenris’ lap, however gently he tried to block her progress. Finally, sitting with his arms at his sides, he simply stared at the redheaded girl perched on his legs.

Anders couldn’t hold back any longer. He ducked his head and snickered at the scene playing-out beside him. Donnic and Aveline laughed with him.

“She won’t bite you, Fenris,” Donnic said. “Not hard, anyway. Have you never held a child before?”

“No. This is... not in my skill-set.” 

The child reached a finger to the elf’s chin, and touched a lyrium line. She looked up at the elf and laughed a child’s perfect laugh. Fenris’ face was suddenly enchanted. 

He studied her with a half-smile. He touched a finger to her chin, in return. And, pulled it back quickly when her baby teeth sank into it. “She’s a little fighter.”

Donnic laughed. “Yes, she is. She’s her mother, through and through.” His pride in both his daughter and his wife couldn’t be plainer.

Aveline and Donnic’s home was simple, warm and comfortable. The men had come for lunch, and stayed for conversation. Both accepted Anders’ silence without comment, greeting him from a distance. Fenris told them of their life with Dorian in Tevinter; the visit by the Chargers, Eve and Cullen; their own visit, so far, in Kirkwall. 

The couple had heard of the people he mentioned, from Varric. They were admittedly surprised that most of his descriptions had been true. 

“Really, a Qunari and a Tevinter mage? That’s pretty unlikely, isn’t it?” Donnic asked.

“In Tevinter, certainly. It seems the Inquisition was a melting pot, of sorts,” Fenris said. 

“And, this Dorian is treating you both well?” Aveline asked.

Fenris nodded, steadying the child as she got herself to her feet on his lap. “Dorian has become our brother, Aveline. We owe him our lives.” The little girl faltered, and fell forward against the elf’s chest. Fenris held her hands and helped her up, again. Anders sorely wished he could stop time, and keep Fenris’ look of bewildered tenderness in his vision forever.

Fenris looked up to see Anders smiling wistfully at him. 

“You two could adopt a child, you know,” Aveline suddenly said.

The three men in the room all stared at her in disbelief. Anders had a hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking.

“Love, not every couple wants a child,” Donnic said, soothingly. 

Fenris looked at the mage. Anders was falling over sideways in his chair, clutching his stomach, still shaking in silent laughter. 

“You started this, Mage, looking at me with cow eyes while I held the child.” The child in question was lying on his legs, kicking her feet into the air.

“I didn’t think I wanted a child, and I’m deliriously happy,” Aveline said, defensively. “Look at them. Pining over our daughter.”

Fenris held the little feet to keep them from striking his face. “Your child is delightful, Aveline. No other could be as pine-inducing. I’m gratified at your confidence that we could raise a child. But, we have no desire to do so.” 

Anders pulled himself upright and wiped tears from his eyes. 

“Pine-inducing?” Donnic asked with a grin. “Well done. Not every man can sweet-talk a proud mother so well.”

Fenris suddenly frowned. He looked down at the toddler in horror. “Oh, no... Aveline!” He held his hands away from the little girl, his face scrunching. Aveline came and took her daughter from him.

“I’ve seen you rip the hearts from men’s chests, yet you quake with fear at the smell of a dirty diaper?”

Anders collapsed into laughter, again. 

Dorian was appalled when he heard the story. “Anders, that’s not funny. A child’s shitty diaper is no laughing matter.”

Anders started laughing, again. “You two are peas in a pod.”

“Better that than pee in a nappy,” Dorian said. “Fenris, I applaud your courage. You wouldn’t catch me with a toddler on my lap.”

“She was as stubbornly determined as her mother. There was nothing I could do to repel her invasion,” Fenris said.

“You should have been there when Aveline suggested we adopt a child,” Anders said.

Dorian joined Anders in hearty laughter. “Anders is the only adoption I need,” Dorian said. “Thank the Maker, he’s toilet-trained.”

They met Varric for cards at the Hanged Man, several nights a week. Donnic or Aveline often joined them. Anders told Varric about Aveline suggesting they adopt a child. Varric laughed as hard as Anders had, and could barely look at Aveline after that, for breaking into laughter. 

“Does the idea of a child seem that repellent to you?” Fenris asked, when they were alone.

“Repellent? No. You’d be a great parent. Protective, devoted. Me? Not so much. Kids are great, on a need-to-know basis. Watching you with that baby was adorable. Just think of our life, now. And, then with a child in it.”

Fenris did. Not just of their personal limitations, but their habits. No. A child would not do either of them any good. Which would not do a child any good.

“I see your point. I didn’t want a child, don’t get me wrong. That baby scared me more than an armed assailant.”

During the weeks they’d spent in Kirkwall, they fell into a routine. They walked the city streets daily, different routes, visiting different sites. There were still memories. Occasionally bad ones. Most of those related to Hawke. Even memories that included happy times with the man, were darkened by the knowledge of his later betrayal.

They also spent time at the Viscount’s Keep. Varric welcomed their input into the city’s interests. As Anders had commented at the Foundry, Varric was leaving no potential revenue unexplored. Not for greed, but for improvements.

“The city, any city, is a business at its heart. It needs to produce income to care for the the family it supports. The family is the population of Kirkwall. All of them, not just the poncey nobles in Hightown. Hence, the new neighborhood to house Darktown. The expanded efforts to help the Alienage. The port improvements. That takes cash flow. That’s what I’m good at. Well, that, and storytelling.”

Anders continued with his research. Although he was sure he was onto something with the Warden blight cure, he kept looking, kept hunting for more clues. On evenings that they spoke with Dorian through the Sending Crystal, he bounced ideas off of him. Dorian was settled in Minrathous, and finding his place in the Magisterium.

“You will never find a more wretched hive of wealth and tyranny,” he said. “Fortunately, I’ve had a lifetime of training for this, just living under my parents’ roof.”

“Have you any allies?” Fenris asked.

“Yes, a few. Strong ones. Maevarus, of course. Oh, she’ll love meeting you two. I have told her so many stories, she feels she already knows you. Some of them were actually true. You do still plan on returning to Tevinter?”

Anders and Fenris shared a smile. “Count on it, Dorian. It’s good to visit, but we want to come home. I’m hoping to hear from Ferelden, at some point, about the potion. But, I’ll only wait here for so long,” Anders said.

“Excellent. Tell Varric he cannot keep you.”

“Tell him yourself. We’ll take the Sending Crystal to the Hanged Man, so you can talk with him.”

Closed away in the Viscount’s Villa, Dorian spoke to all three on the Crystal. Anders and Fenris listened as Varric and Dorian regaled one another with memories of the Inquisition. They were surprised to discover that Varric was related to Maevarus Tilani. Fenris wondered if the world could possibly get any smaller.

They took a few tours of duty around the city with Donnic and Aveline, to see how the Guard was handling crime in Kirkwall. There had been a significant drop, since Varric was voted Viscount. His contacts in the coterie, as well as the improvements for the Alienage and Darktown inhabitants, had decreased the petty crime. There were still smugglers and brigands, especially in outlying areas. Anders and Fenris took part in a few skirmishes on these routes, glad for the sparring matches they’d had months ago.

Varric had concerns regarding a few recent fights. He explained while they relaxed in his room at the Hanged Man.

“It’s pretty organized, from what the Guard’s saying. I think something big is moving in. A large operation looking to fill the vacuum in the area. I’m guessing it’s set-up on the Wounded Coast, and making small incursions.”

“Well, then, you’ll be needing a hand in that, won’t you?” came a seductive voice from the doorway.

“Rivaini!” Varric strode forward to meet Isabela’s embrace. Anders and Fenris stood in surprise. She looked much as she had before, perhaps darker, still missing her pants. “Look what the cat dragged in,” he said, gesturing to the men.

“Boys!” she greeted with a grin. She moved to hug Anders, startling him. Backpedalling madly, he tripped over a chair and was caught in Fenris’ arms. Varric caught a confused Isabela around the waist.

“Blondie’s had a few rough years, Rivaini. Just give him smile and a wave.”

Isabela tilted her head to the side with a smirk. “Well, as long as I’m not losing my charms,” she quipped. “Varric didn’t say anything about you, Tall, Dark and Lanky.” Fenris came forward and returned her embrace.

“Isabela. You haven’t changed a bit.”

“Not on the outside, anyway,” she grinned. She pulled out a chair from Varric’s table and sat indolently. “Varric wrote that you’d been found. Hearing that was the best feeling in the world.”

“He told us how hard you tried to catch up to us on the ship. We can’t tell you how grateful we are,” Fenris said.

“Oh, that was a wicked bit of sailing. Damn cannon. We’d have had you, if not for that.”

A small, slim figure came through the door, a drink in each hand. She handed one to Isabela, planting a kiss on the pirate’s lips. She looked up at the men in the room then, and dropped her drink in surprise, squealing.

“Oh! Oh! You’re here! Oh, thank the Creators!”

Anders sidled to the far side of Fenris, around to the other side of the table. Fenris caught the headlong rush as Merrill threw her arms around him.

“Keep a distance from Anders, Kitten. He’s a bit skittish,” Isabela said.

Merrill continued gushing, but backed away and sat beside Isabela. “I feared we’d never see you again. I’ve prayed and prayed.”

The men all took seats, Fenris shepherding Anders between Varric and himself. The mage was watching the women with sideways glances. Fenris saw that the easy comfort Anders had felt with Varric, even before he spoke to him, was absent. He tried to remember what the mage’s relationship with the women had been like, before. Mildly friendly with Isabela, he thought. Antagonistic toward Merrill. Fenris, himself, had always been rude to the elf. Neither man could abide her use of blood magic. Yet, even at that, the tiny elf had been the first to act against Hawke, that fateful day. 

He took Anders’ hand under the table, and studied his face. The mage was nervous, looking down. 

“Alright?” the elf asked him, quietly. Anders nodded. 

When Fenris looked up, the elf was watching them. She wore a pleased a grin. He cleared his throat. 

“I understand you knocked Hawke down with his own tankard of ale. Thank you, for that.” Merrill looked surprised that he had spoken to her.

“Oh! Yes, that wasn’t very nice, but then, he wasn’t nice at all, was he?” She looked at the two, wiping at her eyes. “I’m so happy that you’ve come home.”

Varric spoke. “Actually, Tevinter is home for them, now, Daisy. They’re just here for a visit.”

“So are we. We make port every time we’re in the area.”

“I keep telling you, you two should settle down. The Alienage could use your guidance, Daisy,” Varric said.

Isabela pulled Merrill onto her lap. “Varric, quit trying to take my Kitten away from me.”

“I’d never leave you, Lethallan,” Merrill replied.

“I’m just a businessman trying to run a big city, Rivaini. You can’t blame me for trying.”

“Yes, I can. What say I borrow Bianca for my next job?”

“OK, OK. No need to play dirty.”

“Speaking of play, Varric, get those cards out. Not the marked ones. You boys still play?”

Varric chuckled. “They do, and they’re better than they were before. Careful what you bet.”

A few hands in, and Isabela called the game.

“Anders may not speak out loud, but he’s talking up a storm with Fenris, there.”

Fenris smirked. He should have known Isabela would pick-up on their signals. 

Varric’s jaw dropped. “You have got to be shitting me! How did I not catch it?”

“It’s subtle. They’re good. You haven’t been playing with sailors half your life. Alright, let’s keep it clean, and start a new hand.”

“You’d better take that card out of your boot, then,” Merrill said.

“Kitten, don’t tell people what I have under my clothes.”

“Rivaini, what most people have under their clothes, is what you wear for clothes.”

“Speaking of which,” Isabela said, dealing new hands, “Fenris... I’m going to say ‘green’.”

“You will never give up,” the elf sighed. “Let me sate your curiosity. Isabela, I wear no underclothes.”

Varric snorted. “Great. Between the two of you, you’re fully dressed.”

Isabela’s laughter rang through the room. “Oh, I just knew it! Well, that’s better than any color. It’s just sad this table blocks my view.”

“Lethallan, don’t ogle him. Can’t you see, they’re together?”

“Er... what?” Isabela looked confused.

“Just look at the energy between them,” Merrill said.

Fenris had no idea to what energy she referred. He looked at Anders, and accepted the gentle kiss the mage pressed to his lips. He smiled. 

Isabela’s jaw dropped. Grinning wickedly, she held her palm up to Varric. The dwarf grumbled, and dropped 20 sovereigns in her hand.

“You had a bet going on us?” Fenris asked.

“For over ten years, now. I knew you two would get there, eventually,” the pirate said, smugly. “Good for you, sweet thing.”

Several weeks later, they assembled for a job. Varric’s sources confirmed the dwarf’s suspicion of a gang on the Wounded Coast. Against Aveline’s protests, Varric was going for the routing. 

“If Bianca doesn’t get a little action now and then, she gets cranky,” he explained. “And, you and I can’t both go. One of us has to keep the city from falling apart if the other gets killed.” Gathered on the Keep’s walkway were Varric, Anders, Fenris, Isabela and Merrill. “Besides, look at this party. Nothing’s getting close.”

“You wear that lady’s luncheon-hat in the field, they’ll use it for target practice,” Fenris pointed out.

“I don’t wear the coronet--it’s a coronet--on missions, Elf.”

It was much like old times. Except that the mage at Fenris’ side was no longer a rival. He was the most wondrous part of the elf’s own self, the most beautiful being to grace the face of Thedas. Fenris smiled at Anders as they walked on the sandy paths, taking his hand in his own. His mage smiled back. They were a bit behind the others. Anders wasn’t as comfortable next to Isabela and Merrill as he was Varric. 

Anders and Fenris hadn’t gone outside the city, since arriving. Little had changed on the coast. The paths and caves were where they had left them. Arriving at an opening in the rocky hillside, Varric gave them more details. 

“My sources say a large band is setting up shop in the deep caverns. Mixed group, doesn’t seem to be part of an established organization. They’re hitting in the city too often, now. Time to take them down.”

Fenris was sure they had been in these caverns, before, but it was hard to tell. All the cave systems in the area seemed to look the same. Isabella was darting ahead, checking for traps and signs of the group. Finally, she darted back.

“Large group, maybe a couple dozen. They’re setting up in a large cavern, around a small pool, below a water fall. We can start on an overlook, then move down when we thin them out.”

It started easy. The group had been unmolested in the security of their hole, and gotten sloppy with security. The mages and Varric picked off a fair number from above, then moved down with the rest and hit them at floor-level. The group was putting up structures, and there were piles of wood, and half-finished walls to take cover behind. The battle was going relatively smoothly.

Suddenly, an explosion went off, carving a hole in the cavern floor, spraying sand and wood debris across the cavern. 

“Cripes, it’s dwarven explosives. Get the men by those crates!” Varric directed.

Most of their party moved in the direction of the crates in question, laying down suppressing fire, and taking them on in melee. A small round object was thrown in their general direction, and they all dove for cover. Another explosion went off.

The enemy was being cut down, with just a few holdouts dug-in near the explosives crates. As they surged forward, two more explosives flew into the air. One was coming down straight into their midst. Anders, at the back, saw it coming. He cast a protective shield over the closely gathered party ahead of him. Fenris, under the shield, heard the two explosions. Water from the pool sluiced over the shield. Another crater was blown out; the clatter of wood, stone and sand a testament to the force involved. When the shield fell, Fenris, Aveline, and Isabela overran the last two fighters, and took them down.

Fenris sheathed his blade, and turned to check on Anders. 

He wasn’t there.

Heart in his throat, Fenris ran to the back of the battle area. It was a mess; fallen walls, splintered wood, broken rocks, a stream gushing through it all. Lying in two pieces amongst the rubble, was Anders’ staff.

“Anders!” Fenris called frantically. “Anders!” Panic began to set in as the elf darted among the debris, searching for his mage.

“ANDERS!”

Fenris stood as dread filled him. His Anders was nowhere in sight.

He was alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isabela needs no pants.
> 
> Poor Fenris! 
> 
>  
> 
> to be continued....


	25. Ever After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter.
> 
>  
> 
> "It is only when you fall, that you learn whether you can fly." Flemeth

Fenris stood amongst the rubble, feeling his control slipping. His lungs fought to breathe, yet he couldn’t draw air. Where was his Anders? What would he do?

A hand on his back sent him spinning about. Varric stood there, looking at him with concern. 

“He’s here, Broody. Let’s just spread-out and look.”

“He’s not... I can’t....”

“It’s alright. Let’s just take a few minutes, and look.” Fenris shook his head, heart pounding. He turned and focused on the debris-field the explosions had left. Had Anders been hit by one? Where was his mage?

He struggled to move forward, eyes desperately scanning the ground. He bit back whimpers, clenched his shaking hands. Around him, the rest of the crew was searching, as well. They called Anders’ name, lifted fallen debris. Isabela and Varric looked for tracks in the muddy sand. 

Fenris had never been so desperate to find something in all his life. Yet, his body could barely perform the task. After several minutes, he was bent over, clutching his head, trying to control the sounds his throat wanted to make. Anders... where was Anders? His life. His own self. 

“Lethallin... take deep breaths. We will find him.”

He looked into the eyes of the elf now beside him. 

“We’re apart... we can’t....” He felt a whine rising in his throat, and clasped his hand over his mouth.

“You love each other very deeply, don’t you?” He nodded, eyes squeezing tight against the fear scrambling his thoughts. 

The group reached the far end of the cavern, turned, and restarted the search from the other direction. Fenris struggled beside Merrill, his breath coming in hiccups.

Ahead, Isabela walked across a large section of wooden wall that had fallen flat. She stopped, turned, and walked across it, again. On hands and knees, she knocked on it, then peered through the space between planks.

“Over here!” she called, trying to lift the section. When she was joined by more, the wall was lifted up and tossed aside. In a crater that had been blasted out of the cavern floor, Anders lay unconscious. The crater was deep enough that the section of wall had fallen flat over him, hiding him from view.

Fenris sprinted to his side, falling to his knees. He was terrified of what he would find.

“AndersAndersAndersAnders.” He touched the mage’s face with trembling fingers. He was warm. He was breathing. Fenris looked up at Merrill, who immediately cast a healing spell. Anders’ eyelids fluttered. Honey-brown eyes looked up, and into Fenris’ own. A whimper escaped the elf. Laying his head on the mage’s chest, he gave up fighting, and wept. His hands twisted into the mage’s robes, and his voice gave hoarse outlet to the fear and overwhelming relief that filled him. Anders’ arms encircled him, and he collapsed against the mage, sobbing. 

“I’m here. I’m alright. What happened?” Fenris only shook his head, weeping.

Varric’s voice answered, somewhat confused. “We couldn’t find you, for a while, at the end. Broody... he was pretty upset.”

“How long was I missing?”

“I guess, ten or fifteen minutes.”

“Oh, Makers’ breath. Fenris, I’m so sorry.” Anders sat up, pulling the elf against him. “I’m here now. It’s alright. I’m so sorry... you were alone so long.... we’re together, now.”

Fenris cried himself dry in Anders’ arms. He felt the mage’s fingers in his hair, his arms around him. He turned his face into the crook of Anders’ neck, and opened his mouth against the mage’s skin. Anders was covered in a fine layer of sand, wet with the water that had flooded the floor. Fenris sucked at his skin, uncaring of the grit, finding the comfort he so desperately needed. Anders rocked him, whispering soft words, adding his voice to the reassurance of taste and scent and touch. His mage was here. They were together. 

\-------------------------------------

Fenris sat with his back against a log, facing the fire. Anders, wrapped in blankets taken from the bandits’ supplies, sat in the V of the elf’s legs. When Fenris had calmed enough in the cavern, Anders helped him up, and walked him slowly out of the caves. The group looted what they could, including travel rations, dry bedrolls, and blankets; and followed the pair. 

Anders’ clothing was soaked through. The rest of the group had been protected by Anders’ shield, but he had been caught in the shower from the explosion as it threw him across the floor. There would be no walking back to town like that, and Fenris was obviously in bad shape. A make-shift camp was set-up, and a fire lit. Anders took off his wet gear, hung it to dry, and wrapped himself in the blankets. It was fairly warm, but even so, Fenris shook like a leaf. Once Anders had them seated, the elf wrapped his arms about the mage and buried his mouth in Anders’ shoulder.

The group was quiet. Fenris ignored them. All he knew, all he cared, was that Anders was with him. He shuddered slightly, eyes squeezing tightly shut. His Anders. His all. 

Varric sat next to them, watching over them, it seemed. The dwarf finally broke the silence. “You two, uh... you’re never apart?”

Anders shook his head. “Not since about a year after we left Kirkwall."

“Ever?” 

“Once. For a couple of minutes. It was bad.”

“Isn’t that hard to manage, all the time?” Varric asked.

Anders shrugged. “Not really. We don’t think much about it. It’s just who we are. We have tried to teach ourselves to separate. We just can’t.”

Varric’s jaw clenched, his voice thick. “What did that bastard do to you?”

“This wasn’t done to us, Varric. This is how we lived through what was done to us. This is how we stayed strong. This is how we survived.”

“Still... I think of Hawke, and what he put you through. I wish I’d put a bolt through him a decade ago.”

“You couldn’t have known. None of us knew. What happened, happened. Fenris and I are different, now. It used to bother me, that I’m so different. But, we also share a love by which all others are measured. We don’t just have each other, we are each other. There’s no need for pity, or anger, or what-if’s. Not when we share each other’s soul.”

Fenris’ forehead pressed behind Anders’ neck. Anders felt the elf shake as hot tears wet his skin. 

The group sat quietly, watching the fire. 

“I still wish I knew where Hawke went bad,” Varric said. 

“He couldn’t fly,” Merrill said. 

“Come again?” Varric asked.

“Asha Bellanar told him, long ago. ‘It’s only when you fall, that you learn whether you can fly’. After he lost all that remained of his family, Hawke was falling, and he couldn’t fly. He fell into despair. And, he lost himself.”

By morning, Fenris was much calmer. The elf woke first, and then woke the mage with soft kisses roaming his face. The sight of Anders’ amber eyes opening in the dim morning light took his breath away. 

“Don’t ever do that again,” the elf whispered. “I thought I was dying.” 

“I’m sorry, love. You know it wasn’t by choice.”

“I know. But, it nearly killed me.” He took the mage’s lips in a passionate kiss, sorely wishing they were alone. He pulled back, and quietly helped Anders to his feet. They slipped from camp, taking Anders’ damp-dry clothing with them.

In a small clearing, Fenris took Anders in his arms, and kissed him with all the pent-up emotion that hadn’t found its outlet in his tears. He consumed the mage, leaving them both breathless. 

“Ten minutes of terror, my Anders,” he murmured. “It was an eternity. I still can’t believe you’re in my arms.” He claimed the mage’s mouth, again. Anders slowly backed himself against the leaning pillar of an ancient structure, pulling Fenris with him. 

“Prove it to yourself, love,” the mage said. 

As Fenris loved him in the dawn’s quiet, the elf felt the world set itself right, again. Anders was under him, around him; his taste, his touch, his scent, his sounds. Their bodies moved together, their lungs breathed together, their hands clasped together... and, their souls were one. 

The walk back to Kirkwall was peaceful. Isabela and Merrill walked ahead. Arm in arm, they nuzzled playfully. 

Fenris and Anders walked arm in arm, as well. The elf felt particularly attached, and held Anders close. Varric walked beside them, pleased with the outcome of the trip, despite the emotional pains that had followed.

Anders pointed his chin at the women. “When did that happen?”

Varric chuckled. “Can’t say, exactly. I think Merrill’s sweetness just snuck in under Isabela’s walls. They’ve been good for each other.” Varric cleared his throat. “Look, I didn’t mean to pry, last night. And, I sure never meant to imply that anything is wrong with either of you.”

Fenris shook his head. “It’s alright, Varric. We catch people off-guard. We accept what we are... at least, it sounds like we do,” he added, glancing at Anders. The mage smiled.

“We do.” Anders confirmed.

Varric nodded. “Well, that’s good. Because we do, too.”

\------------------------------------------

Wicked Grace games were lively, with such a compliment of players. Having been caught giving each other cues by Isabela, Anders and Fenris were winning less. They didn’t care. Sitting at a table, passing a pitcher of ale, bickering over game rules, laughing at jokes and stories... those were the true winnings.

As the weeks went by, less and less Hawke-memories arose. Those that did, had less affect. 

“We had to break-up a coterie fight at the Blooming Rose, last night,” Aveline said. “Gamlen. He’s got the money, why doesn’t he just pay his debts?”

“I’ve seen it a hundred times, Aveline,” Varric said. “ A guy gets used to living a certain way, he can’t stop. All he knows is dodging debtors and scraping by. Give him a fortune, he’ll keep doing it.”

“Perhaps. He became morose after Charade. I think he has a death-wish.”

“What charade?” Fenris asked.

“Charade was Gamlen’s daughter,” Varric said. “He didn’t even know about her. She tried to draw him into contact with a scavenger hunt. Hawke looked into it; her notes mentioned a jewel. Long-story short, when he finally met her; his cousin, mind you, he killed her in battle.”

“It wasn’t much of a battle, Varric,” Aveline said. “She handed over the jewel, and he cut her down. Hawke said she was a risk. Gamlen didn’t say much, though her mother had apparently been the love of his life. I think he gave up, after that.”

“Well, he at least got Hawke’s fortune.”

“And, lives like a pauper. He and the house both look like they’re falling apart. Spends all of his money on drink, gambling, and whores,” Aveline said.

“Not a bad lifestyle, if you ask me,” Isabela said.

“I didn’t ask you,” Aveline said.

“Ladies, ladies... This is a no-cat-fight-zone, remember? Unless wet frocks are involved. Then, we’ll make an exception,” Varric decreed.

“You’re a pervert, Varric,” Aveline said.

“Well, I’m game,” said Isabela.

Anders turned to Fenris. “It’s special moments like these when I most wish Dorian could be here with us.” 

\-----------------------------------------

In a few more weeks, Isabela and Merrill took to the sea, again. A few weeks after that, Fenris and Anders did, as well. They had reconnected with their family of Misfits. They had discovered and defeated the ghosts of their past. However, as much they enjoyed their friends’ company and creating new memories, their life in the North called to them.

Reuniting with Dorian, when he surprised them at the Tevinter-Nevarran border, was truly a homecoming. He came for no other reason than to lessen the time it took before he saw them, again. Such is the love and devotion he shares with his brothers. 

There are times when Fenris can barely remember the years they spent in Danarius’ estate, during their slavery. Emerging from that time, into the warmth and care provided by Dorian and Eve, was like waking from a nightmare. 

When he thinks of that time, it’s only to recall the merging of his soul with Anders’. How they survived together, how they became one another, how they grew to love one another.

Anders is his life. He is all that matters. He is a part of him, as much as his limbs or organs, and will be for the rest of their lives.

The life they share with Dorian is good. They help him in his efforts to reform their country. They know his allies, and often attend gatherings with him. While the Pavus Family works hard to fulfill their goals of freedom for all Tevinter, and to bring their country out of corruption; they also share much joy and laughter in the comfort of their home. 

Due to the Imperial penchant for in-fighting, Dorian also has enemies, those who don’t appreciate his ideals. During one frightening time, he was caught in an attack by the Venatori. Dorian’s love, The Iron Bull, was the one who found the way to dispatch the would-be assassins, and rescue Magister Pavus.

Fenris and his mage aren’t always found in Minrathous. Sometimes with Dorian, and sometimes alone, they travel to other Pavus estates, both in and out of the Imperium. Dorian and Bull meet at the Tevinter border as often as they are able. When Dorian is able to travel outside of the Imperium with Fenris and Anders, Bull and his Chargers always meet them. Those extended liaisons are Dorian’s sustenance through the lonelier times between.

Every couple of years, Fenris and Anders return to Kirkwall. Varric’s reign is uncontested. The people of the city are grateful for his leadership that brought such prosperity and charity. Eventually, with Anders and Fenris’ blessing, the storyteller told the tale of their enslavement, freedom, and love. Neither Fenris nor Anders would read the drafts or completed novel. The dwarf worked with Dorian to assure their anonymous presentation was both tasteful and respectful. So, with sensitivity and consideration, Varric wrote a book that left the populace shattered and questioning. 

Even in Tevinter, their story had people reeling. Those few people who knew that the characters depicted were actually Anders and Fenris, were shocked that two men of such intellect and skills had been relegated to the status of animals. Their story rocked previously held beliefs regarding the institution of slavery. 

There were detractors, of course. Traditionalists who insisted the work was pure fantasy, and resented Tevinter ideals being presented in such an unflattering light. Still other readers simply found the story a compelling romance, and swooned with rapture at the tale of a love so deep. Regardless, Varric’s book stirred feelings across Thedas, and in Tevinter, in particular. The idea that slaves were people, with feelings, thoughts, and potential, was frightening to the Imperium. For the first time since the Book of Shartan, slaves had been given in voice.

Anders’ own voice still remains hidden. There are a few more people, whom he has gotten to know well, with whom he can speak. Maevaris Tilani, a friend and frequent visitor to their home, is one. When called upon for healing, Anders finds he is able to do the speaking and touching necessary for work. It’s difficult, and short-lived, but allows him to heal. It takes a great deal out of him to interact so closely with strangers, and doesn’t do it often. Fenris, of course, is always there to help him.

He and Fenris visit the cooperative Dorian and Belus had created. There is where Anders does most of his healing. More cooperative ventures have opened, as a result of Dorian’s work. Yet more as a result of Varric’s book. 

Even if Anders has not found his voice, he has found his hand. With writing at his command, once more, he corresponds with many people; friends, allies, fellow scholars. For, he has become respected as a researcher and skilled alchemist. The potion Anders re-engineered, to cure the Grey Warden Calling, was successful. After more than a year of study and trials, Grey Wardens were able to reverse their Joining. 

The King and Queen of Ferelden were among the first to purge their taint. Within two years, their first child was born. An heir eagerly awaited, and reportedly, much loved. Anders was surprised to receive a personally addressed announcement of the child’s birth. Even more surprised to see that the list of middle names the child bore, included his own. 

Anders has had no desire to visit Ferelden. The only loss they feel in that, is that of Eve and Cullen. All three men speak with them often through Dorian’s Sending Crystal. Eve assists Cullen in helping ex-Templars with purging the lyrium that causes their delirium. 

Fenris nursed Anders through his own day and night of the taint’s purge. Black, foul blood and gripping spasms brought to mind a horrifying memory. But, this sickness was entirely different. For, dawn came, and the emissions ceased. Anders’ life was again his, to lead for as long as he was lucky enough to live. Fenris held his mage that morning, and wept with happiness. 

Theirs is a life lived fully paired. After having twice felt the terror of nearly losing Anders, Fenris could simply no longer practice separation from him. After the Spiritus potion, and his brief loss in the caverns, Anders understood it was just too much to ask of the elf. In truth, their constant company is no hardship for either. Just as the taste and scent of their skin continues to bring them comfort in times of stress; being in one another’s presence allows them the peace and security to simply live. A peace they never take for granted.

Fenris feels the wonder of his life in many ways. But, nothing compares to the utter joy Anders brings. When he touches his mage, he feels complete. He feels privileged, as well; for Anders still cannot bear the touch of most. Watching his beautiful mage melt under his caress causes a thrill unlike any Fenris has known. Bringing each other to bliss is a communion beyond the dreams of most men. 

And, in the joy of their life, they found some level of compassion for a man who was once their friend. When Fenris and Anders do think of Hawke, it’s no longer with hate nor anger. They feel sadness for a once-good man, who went terribly wrong. For a man who found himself so alone, that he lost his way. Who, when he fell, found that he could not fly.

When Fenris thinks objectively on his life, he can see the pain, the unfairness, the terror. He knows it existed. He also knows it no longer matters. Whatever he went through, whatever his Anders experienced, it’s done. It’s part of their past and it changed them, but it does not define who they are. They are so much more. They are each other. They are one. 

On that terrible day in the Hanged Man, they fell. But, not only did they learn that they could fly; they learned that they could soar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG. 
> 
> Writing this story has been a journey I wasn't quite expecting. It was also an exploration of personal demons of which I was unaware.
> 
> I cannot thank you all enough for your continuing interest, support, and comments. Truly. You are wonderful people who got where I was going, and get what I am saying. Reading your comments, thoughts, and impressions was the best feeling in the world. 
> 
> I won't expand upon this particular story, in the future. I have left this version of Anders and Fenris in their perfect imperfection, with their happily-ever-after. I can't mess with that.
> 
> I do, however, have other versions of Anders and Fenris, in other storylines. They will be visited. 
> 
> Blessings, happiness, and joy to you all!


	26. STORY COVER ART

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beautiful cover art by lolbatty.


	27. CHAPTER 3 ART

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Art inspired by events in chapter 3, by the incredibly generous @protect-him (Tumblr).


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